Truthspeaker
by The Toa of Science Fiction
Summary: Ancient Cybertron. Not long after the last ejection of oppressive Quintessons from their world, two soldiers with a unique skill must navigate a teetering Cybertrom to uncover a mystery - a mystery at the heart of a single word. Crime procedural/war series. Episodic teleplay format, T for violence and war elements. Enjoy!
1. Pilot

**Pilot - Truthspeaker**

Silence. Black.

Gunfire. Yelling. Growling creatures, echoing.

S.O. (text, typing):

"Attention, all Autobot teams. Infiltrator unit Dealer captured by unknown aggressor in Squid Crater. Sharkticons still active, unknown number. Honest optics and quick cogs, 'bots."

Sounds of Transformation. Dozens. Orders shouted between comrades, muffled. Splashing of an undecided liquid.

QUICK BLINK IN - EST.:

**EXT. DRAINED ENERGON LAKE - UNDERGROUND - DARK**

A large, black cavern. A picture of war.

Everywhere we look, there is an explosion, a group of Autobots or Sharkticons, a discharge of weapons. Even in the air, violence is everywhere as the Cybertronian soldiers unleash their hatred and fighting drive in full force on the remnants of their once-slavers.

FOCUS IN:

A five-man Autobot Quadrus runs forward. White plasma bolts zheww by in all directions. A closer examination shows all five wear matching colors: red and blue with silver faceplate grilles. Their leader - OPTRONIX MINOR - waves towards a high-walled obsidian rock formation. Four dive behind the boulder, Optronix bringing up the rear.

That is, until...

The rock explodes in white smoke and orange sparks, throwing Optronix a good twenty metrons backwards. The explosion cuts out all sound, leaving the Quadrus Minor temporarily deaf and without a unit. Their charred parts fly some six metrons beyond where he himself lays.

And without a unit, he pulls his rifle back to his shoulder, and runs off into the war on his own.

He Transforms, revealing his ALT. MODE: a red hovertank, with his rifle forming one main cannon as the other - back kibble - spins into place beside it. He rushes forward, firing both cannons into the enemy we still cannot see.

CUT TO:

SHARKTICONS. Faded-grey monsters, some in Beast Mode, others Robot Mode, some trapped between the two. Each one holds a spiked club, a broken spear, a pistol or a grenade. All growl primally at the Cybertronians passing them.

Optronix does not think, except that this enemy will take him, too. The hovertank charges towards them, firing madly. Some go down. Most shrug off the white-hot bolts, turns their attentions toward he and he alone. Some Transform, jaws snapping up out of their torsos, limbs twisting like turrets on a gunship. The now-Beast-Moded droids stomp their way towards the tank, blocky tongues rolling between corroded lips.

ENTER:

WING SABER. A white-gold fighter jet orbits a drooping Energon-indigo stalactite, blasting a winged creature bearing some inbred resemblance to the monsters on the ground. After two or three holes torn through its wings, it drops, screaming. Wing Saber follows it down, discovers Optronix surrounded on all sides. Plasma bolts whiz past him, too - some of it is friendly fire. Without another thought he breaks away from the Pterocon and begins firing on the new targets.

On the ground, Optronix barely has time to Transform before he sees the flyer himself Transform, dropping precisely so that they are now back-to-back. He pulls the second cannon from his back kibble.

OPTRONIX

_What are you doing here?_

WING SABER

_Whatever I can to - !_

Almost comedically, the Seeker ducks under a Sharkticon throwing axe, then fires off two quick shots with his own pistols before assuming a natural rhythm.

WING SABER

_Help_.

OPTRONIX

_Well, that's better than nothing. Where's your squadron?_

WING SABER

_Elsewhere_.

Optronix says nothing else. The possibilities are obvious.

WING SABER

(Cont'd)

_Either way, I found a whole pocket of hexacombs in the rock face just in that ridge. Can't reach it alone._

OPTRONIX

_Roger that, Seeker._

FOCUS ON (SLOW-MOTION):

It is in that moment that the two Autobots - Cybertronian soldiers - make physical contact. Their back apparatuses touch. A little blue ember strikes between them. A bell has been rung, and both Autobots react out of unknown reflex.

Before either has time to react, both are Transforming. But it's not a regular Alt. Mode for either of them - instead, they Transform into each other, limbs melding and folding, forging a grand cacophonous tangle of free limbs and folding parts. And when those several seconds are done, it leaves the two as one:

It's a POWERLINK: Two beings melded into an amalgam Transformer with blue-red-gold armor. An altered version of Optronix's head pops up, eyes glowing yellow. They have wings. Boots. Engines on Their back. They wield Optronix's guns, mounted to Their arms. The Powerlink - a DUON - looks at its own hands, optics widened, momentarily oblivious to the war around them.

They disengage. Both fall to the ground awkwardly, shocked. Laser fire passes over them, then stops as the shooters assume they have hit their targets.

OPTRONIX

_What the slag was that?_

WING SABER

_Well, what do you know! How're the chances of THAT!_

OPTRONIX

_One in a million._

(Deliberating, weighing this knowledge):

_We go together. Optronix Minor._

WING SABER

_Wing Saber, Seeker. Nice to meet ya, Minor._

He nods to Optronix as he says this. Jokingly, he bumps Optronix's fist, activating the Powerlink reflex once again. The blue light formed between them casts a short aura around the Duon.

OPTRONIX AND WING SABER

(Internally)

_DUON: We are One._

Neither questions it now, and the Duon itself says no more, simply becomes airborne. He fires off several shots into a crowd of Sharkticons, then turns, finding himself becoming the new prey for a duo of Pterocons. His optics narrow into slits, quickly forming a plan.

DUON

(Into comm)

_Dispatcher, this is Duon Optronix/Wing Saber. Exploring hexacomb formation in Parsos 7._

DISPATCHER

(Over comm)

_Understood. These kinds of things happen. Distributing new orders, happy hunting._

With that, the line cuts out. The Duon continues flying, outmaneuvering Pterocons by weaving between stalactite. As the winged creatures collide with them, both shatter as if made of old glass. Crystallized and melting Energon rains onto the ground, each shard having the force of a harpoon behind it. They rain down on Autobot and Sharkticon alike; some members on both sides pull out solid and energy shields, crouching as Energon clanks and bounces. Off of them.

The narrow canyon stretches before the Duon, growing closer and closer until it seems the only was through is to - !

WIDE:

The mouth of the canyon is much, much more spacious than we first assume it to be, and the airborne Duon slip through it with ease. (Hold several moments on the canyon after they enter.)

FRONT ANGLE SHOT:

He continues flying, dead-center between the two flat obsidian walls, streaks and drips of Energon illuminating his way. The Wing Saber in him knows exactly where to go... At least, to some degree. The Duon's head turrets around, searching for the distinguishing marks which had pointed it out to the Seeker in the first place.

FOCUS ON:

As he whizzes by, the Duon spots the abnormal crater in the black rock face, overshoots it drastically, hovers backwards to discover that it is indeed there. His jets go quiet, gently guiding him down to what appears to be a whittled-out stone balcony. Just inside is an entryway to some kind of tunnel, Void-black, impenetrable.

Several barrels slowly catch dripping Energon. In this moment of rest, the Duon look up, seeing the several fanglike stalactites above them. These are not the normal blue-purple; these are a more fiery ember color. Yellow eyes narrow, puzzling on this.

DUON

_Disengage_.

And both do so, as if climbing out the same cockpit. Both share an optical message, confirmed by a quick hand gesture: Optronix takes the lead. He taps his helmet, activating lights all over his body. Wing Saber does the same, and follows close behind his new partner.

WING SABER

(Into comm)

_Dispatcher, have arrived at Parsos 7. Entering cave now, rendezvous soon._

DISPATCHER

(Over comm)

_Copied. Proceed with caution._

Signal cuts out.

At first, it seems like a normal cave, altered to appear even darker. We see only their guidelights, nothing more of the two Autobots... or anything else.

And as they go farther in, it's abundantly clear this is not a normal rock formation. Gradually, the two fleets of lights solidify into Autobot silhouettes again. The rock walls are reinforced with some silver beams, gradually widening out and illuminating itself until they arrive at - !

**INT. LABORATORY - WELL-LIT - CONT**

A small lab-style room, hardly meant to accommodate more than two or three people comfortably. Dangling from the ceiling are a trio of powerful light fixtures, bordering on harsh, hanging loosely on long cables. A work table on the right, apparently cleared out - and battled on - in a hurry. On the left:

A silver vault-style door. There appears to be no lock on it, only a handle, smashed to bits and blasted at least once. Is it ajar?

Optronix tests that first. He approaches, reaching out his left hand to pull on what's left of the thing. It comes easily. Meanwhile, Wing Saber tries to reach Dispatcher one more time.

WING SABER

(Into hissing comm)

_Wing Saber to Autobot Dispatch._

Loose static. He hits his comm button one more time, same result.

WING SABER

_No response._

OPTRONIX

_At least the door's not locked. We go in on my mark._

He counts down, right pistol raised.

OPTRONIX

(Phonetically)

_Fife, foar, tree..._

He raises his pistol, pauses a moment.

OPTRONIX

(Cont'd)

_TOO WUN!_

He pulls the heavy steel door open with ease, half-charges on impulse as if wanting as much violence as possible.

But there is none, only an old-looking metal cage, bars anchored to the floor and somewhere in the ceiling, stretching from wall to wall. In that cage:

OPTRONIX

_It's Dealer._

He drops his pistol a bit, but leaves it ready to shoot. He walks further up to the bars, allowing Wing Saber to follow in behind him.

Dealer doesn't look good: light blue armor is now rusty, in some places smashed in, in others bent flat. His optics are dim. Kibble indicating an Alt. Mode has been reduced to broken-off nubs all over his body. He looks delirious, unaware of their presence, sat up against the back wall like a corpse. Something in the room hums with an unknown power - something intimidating.

FAVOR ON:

We see the AUTOBOT INSIGNIAS of both Autobots, cutting first from the brand on one's arm, then to his companion's. Another cut shows that, in the same place, Dealer has nothing, only a faint painted-on emblem on a square of mismatched armor plating.

DEALER

(Hoarse)

_Oh, good, someone's arrived! Don't touch the bars._

OPTRONIX

_We're Autobots, there are more waiting for us. Any idea how this cage opens?_

The prisoner points to a little box just outside the cage. Both Autobot soldiers follow him, lock optics with it.

DEALER

_That's a variable voltage generator. Hence, nay touching the bars._

WING SABER

_We'll figure something out. Double-val - that needs an abundant power source, yes?_

DEALER

_Yeah. Cable's concealed, though_.

Both Wing Saber and Optronix are already searching for it, though. And suddenly Optronix gazes at Dealer's bars - not him, but the bars holding him.

OPTRONIX

_In the bars._

WING SABER

_Well, that's one way to do it._

Without warning, Wing Saber pulls out his pistol and SHOOTS one of the bars. The sudden report of the weapon sends both other Cybertronians to the floor. Dealer squeals.

Pause a moment. The Seeker decides to shoot again. Silence from them this time.

But the bar is smoking. Sparks fly from exposed wiring. Casually, Wing Saber gives a good kick, finishing what his weapon started. It breaks in two, clanging on the floor. Both Optronix and Dealer look up to see that the Seeker's impulse has paid off.

WING SABER

_Too easy._

Optronix, robotic though he - and the whole Cybertronian race - is, clearly wears an expression of disbelief... and suspicion.

OPTRONIX

(To himself)

_Yes, it is._

Wing Saber points to his new partner with his pistol: "Help me with the rest of these bars."

WING SABER

_You'll want to stand back._

Dealer gets up, shuffles back to his space on the wall, presses himself firm as he can as the two Autobots shoot at the bars, kicking them down after a good shot or two.

Both step over the remains of the brittle bars to where Dealer remains against the wall. They sling him upward, begin carrying him together back through the tunnel where they'd entered.

OPTRONIX

_Is there anything you can tell us about your captors? And this lab?_

The spy shakes his head.

DEALER

_No, not at all. But... they were big. They were scary._

He says nothing else. As is the Cybertronian way, they respect his silence.

EXT. UNDERGROUND CANYON - MODERATE TO DARK

The three Cybertronians emerge on the makeshift landing pad. Examining the drop below them, the distance across this divide, the height above them - the canyon stretches to the cave ceiling - the Seeker and Major shoot a look to each other.

WING SABER

_Can you handle it?_

OPTRONIX

_Can you?_

They both turn back to face Dealer, and gently as they can, they lower him to the ground. Then they perform their little one-in-a-two-thousand-and-ninety-sixth trick, this time with even greater ease. They don't even touch when both begin Transforming, melding with each other. Dealer looks on, more than slightly dumbfounded, optics wide and mouth ajar.

The Duon drops to the ground in front of him, large arms opening. The figure stoops.

DUON

_Up we go._

The Duon lifts Dealer in his arms, then activates his jets. He lifts off from the rock platform, first moving forward and downward, and then up, up, up! (Out of frame)

HOLD ON:

Also, please take note of the Energon drippings around the entry of the cave: a regular purple. And it's far sparser than it was before, as well.

CUT TO:

He's carrying Dealer across the sky, weaving in between stalactites bigger than himself, thrusters burning and leaving a foggy cloud of vaporized air and Energon.

EXT. AUTOBOT MOBILE COMMAND TENT - SQUID CRATER - CONT.

Dispatcher - truly, that is his name - sits at his console, dozens of patch cables plugged directly between himself and the block of machinery, dictating into a headset and keying information into another computer. SGT. KUP leans over Dispatcher's shoulder, watching the monitor display.

KUP

_Any wo -_

He can't finish. Dispatcher cuts him off.

DISPATCHER

(Into comm)

_Duon of Seeker Wing Saber and Optronix Minor, bringing Dealer back into custody. ETA: six microcycles, clock active._

(After switching channels)

_Dispatcher to Duon: We're expecting you._

KUP

_You heard the 'bot. Get an armed escort out there, we're on the clock!_

CUT TO; TRACKING:

Uniform red-striped Autobot sentries run out from under the tent, pulling heavy rifles off the wall. We follow a small formation of them pushing through the cloth doorway, shouting incomprehensible orders to one another. They form a little wall around the building-sized tent, which displays a 'bot-sized AUTOBOT INSIGNIA.

A Sharkticon wanders up, one side of its torso just gone. Two of the sentries raise rifles, put it out of its misery. It drops dead on the rocks.

AUTOBOT SCOUT

_Contact! Confirmed: Airborne Duon and Deale_r.

And it's true: the airborne Autobot Duon carries the blue Dealer. And he's followed by several Pterocons he can't shoot down.

AUTOBOT CAPTAIN

_Cover fire!_

He and several others oblige, blasting at the airborne Pterocons. None of the shots do anything more than nick some armor plating or veer them slightly off-course.

THROUGH TELEMETRY:

The Duon isn't safe in the air. Judging by the fire on him and the top priority in his arms, keeping him up there does no one any good. Those ugly Cons in the air are sure stupid, but they're still programmed killing machines. The Pteros are now surrounding them.

AUTOBOT CAPTAIN

_Clear the landing. And concentrate fire, Makers damn it!_

Shift focus to the Duon's perspective:

The Autobot command tent is below them. Just as many Sharkticons on the ground as Pterocons in the air, at least.

DUON

(Dryly)

_Oh, no! Time to do something stupid._

And he does. With Dealer in a bundle in his arms, he drops his altitude, scraping through hungry Sharkticons too quickly for them to catch up.

DEALER

_W- what does tha -_ !

(Screaming, weak)

The two components disengage: Wing Saber goes up, Optronix goes down. With perhaps less finesse than should have been granted, the Autobot catches the once-prisoner.

They're not far from the tent, it's just a matter of going through a whole riot of riled-up machines.

Wing Saber remains a force from above, sacrificing power for numbers and versatility as his new partner on the ground drops their quarry and begins charging straight into the Sharkticons.

That leaves Dealer huddled on the ground, protected between them but immobile.

CUT BACK TO:

KUP

_I don't care what you have to do, WE NEED A SHUTTLE DOWN THERE NOW!_

DISPATCHER

_Can't do it. Not in time, at least. Or are we pretending time isn't important?_

KUP

(Recognizing his outburst)

_Sorry, lad, it's just... -_

Dispatcher does not let him finish. He begins talking into his headset again.

DISPATCHER

_Confirmed. The Duon are breaking through._

CUT TO:

They're not a Duon, but they are regardless breaking through. It seems this Squidtouched boil in Cybertron's face has exhausted its supply of pus. The Sharkticons we see are all that is left. The sentries pick the last of them off one by one.

Good, thing too: both Autobots look exhausted. Even the Sentries, under orders not to abandon their posts, look anxious just to get this job over with now.

OPTRONIX

_Almost there._

There aren't many Sharkticons left. All dead, including Pterocons writhing on the ground with their wings clipped.

AUTOBOT CAPTAIN

_Mobilize, mobilize!_

The Sentries disperse almost like a true military unit, fanning out, Transforming as they walk. Most of them Transform into turret walkers: tanks with legs. With a lethargy - or else, relaxation - not seen before, they brush past the Sharkticons, shooting them dead as they pass. They climb over the corpses of the Squiddies' playthings and a few of their own comrades, trying to reach the place where their own 'bots are waiting, huddled on the ground around...

A Scout first picks up his walking speed, then is jogging - and then running. Without Transforming himself, he reaches them. He doesn't like what he finds.

Both the Minor and the Seeker are crouched over the objective's corpse. It appears that his head has exploded from the inside out, taking most of his upper torso with him. Exposed wire, servomotors, loose cogs are all spilled out around them, even coating their faces and bodies with the lifeblood of the very-much-dead Dealer. Optronix and Wing Saber look up at the scout.

WING SABER

_Some kind of explosive implant_.

AUTOBOT SCOUT

_Any last words?_

OPTRONIX

_One_.

Both share a look. Like all Autobots, their eyes are blue. But as they turn their heads back to the Autobot scout, they aren't blue.

They're yellow - of a Duon.

DUON

_Truthspeaker_.


	2. Liquidation pt I

Script notes:

"RANDOM PLUTOSIAN" is not a single character, but rather just saying that it's a generic character - a face in the crowd - who isn't likely to appear again.

A/N:

_"Not really that much to say. It's the fourteenth of January, twentieth year of the twenty-first century. Also, I'm the stalker-y type of writer who watches statistics dogmatically - to all ye in Belgium, thanks for rereading. And to all of ye, enjoy Episode 2!"_

\- The Toa of Science Fiction

:-{ )

* * *

**Liquidation, Ch I - Truthspeaker**

Silence.

DISPATCHER (V.O)

(Over comms, with static)

_Calling Autobot Duon Gamma Major - Optronix, Wing Saber - Dispatcher, calling Duon Gamma Major. Report immediately to Node Plutosis for new assignment, acting Marshal Kilotron will greet, further instructions upon arrival..._

JUMP IN:

**INT. NODE PLUTOSIS - SPARSE INDOOR CITY - MODERATE LIGHT (OVERCYCLE)**

An AUTOBOT DROPPER descends onto a wide urban street. From this modest shuttle emerge two Autobots:

Wing Saber emerges first. He retains the white-gold colors and Autobot-blue eyes, but he's gained some new splashes: blue bands on his arms, red stripes on his shoulders. The insignia on his arm is now a new shape, with the letter Gamma - Γ - overlaid on it.

Optronix has his partner's stripes as well, and the Gamma on his Major's insignia. But in addition, he has a different set of antennæ in his helmet, and has probably made modifications to his Alt. Mode.

The Dropper begins taking off behind them, roaring, kicking up brown and purple dust. Wing Saber turns backwards, waves to the departing ship.

OPTRONIX

_They can't see you, you know._

WING SABER

_Oh, I know. But sometimes belief alone makes things true._

Optronix does not ask further.

ENTER:

MARSHAL KILOTRON - A tall brown-and-black figure in a red visor, carrying a lawman's phase cannon on one arm. He walks past a few of the Nodehuts, greets them in the middle of a generally empty street. He salutes his friend Optronix, who salutes him in return.

KILOTRON

_Promotion, I see._

OPTRONIX

(Gesturing between the two)

_Indeed. Marshal Kilotron, Wing Saber Major, and vice versa._

The Autobot and Marshal regard each other with friendly nods. Almost as one, the three Transformers begin walking down the street.

OPTRONIX

_So what have we got?_

KILOTRON

(Sighing)

_Keeping a whole Node together is tricky. Especially since we now have a breakaway faction._

They pass increasingly larger buildings, the Marshal pointing them out to the Duon as they pass. Various Cybertronian "civilians" in a variety of armor colors. They wave to each other, nod politely.

OPTRONIX

_Any suspects?_

KILOTRON

(Pointing in every direction)

_Them. _(Points another way)_ Them. That 'bot loitering under the awning. All of them._

WING SABER

_Declaration of war?_

KILOTRON

_Soon, maybe. But we can't isolate them because... Well, they're all masked when they meet. Some of my contacts say they're reconvening tonight._

Optronix isn't fazed by hearing this, but the Seeker seems mildly surprised.

WING SABER

_Underground contacts? A Marshal?_

It's been a while since the Marshal has been questioned so directly by anyone. The barrel in his chest rotates amusedly. He says nothing.

They pass a large Coliseum. Kilotron points it out.

KILOTRON

_See that? That's where it is?_

LONG SHOT: We see the trio of Autobots from behind, walking away casually, not quite in step.

OPTRONIX

_Any plan?_

They pass a few assorted Plutosians as they walk away from us, but they do not regard each other, save one shouting greeting to the Marshal in passing.

KILOTRON

(Chuckling)

_Yes._

RAPID CROSSFADE:

**EXT. OUTSIDE PLUTOSIS COLISEUM - EVENING LIGHT (UNDERCYCLE)**

Dozens, hundreds of Plutosians, all crowding into the doorway - large and welcoming, yes, but a tight squeeze nonetheless.

We follow one cluster in the crowd, pushing and jostling for the best seats in the house. Engine kibbles rev, wings flap, 'bots laugh. As they pass, we see all are MASKED - decorative masks, homemade masks, combat masks, any and all, but covering every face. And the place is so densely populated that the rest of the body is well and truly secured. Not that these comrades care much, anyway.

As we follow the group through the crowd, we recognize some poorly-hidden Autobots, at least their bodies. There might be some others tagging along.

OPTRONIX

(Shouting to be heard)

_I don't like this. We're too visible._

KILOTRON

_Look around you. You see the masks, but what else?_

OPTRONIX

(Slowly, dictating his observations)

_It's... They're friendly. There's trust. Rapport. Respect?_

KILOTRON

_Among themselves. And therefore, in sharing of the mask, among us._

We see the group slowly carve out their own corner in the back of one set of bleachers. It includes the Duon Gamma, Kilotron, and one or two others.

WING SABER

(Humorously, still shouting)

_Your guys?_

They raise their hands. The Seeker turns around to see them: "Yes, we are very much still right here."

KILOTRON

_Oh, yes! Duon Gamma, meet my unofficial deputies: STREETWISE and BRUNT._

They wave upraised arms at the mention of their names.

KILOTRON

_Deputies, Duon Gamma Major._

WING SABER

_How d'ya do?_

STREETWISE

(Tarnian accent, deadpan)

_Jolly like the Face o' Folly._

BRUNT

(Low Iaconian)

_Word is, mech in charge's making a personal appearance._

RANDOM PLUTOSIAN

_Oh, aya!_

WIDE ANGLE:

We get our first real view of the Coliseum: several sections of Praxian-style bleachers - decently packed, but not cramped - surround a circular podium the size of the Dropper that brought the Duon here. Overhead fixtures some twenty or thirty metrons above them all point down, washing the stage in yellow-brown light. The apparatus holding them together is a Turborantul's Attic of cables easily capable of fitting a couple very large Cybertronians.

The incredible din subsides. Silence becomes the spirit flowing through them all.

RANDOM PLUTOSIAN

_Oh, here we go, here we go!_

KILOTRON

_Exits in sight?_

WING SABER

_North, East, South. Any others?_

STREETWISE

_Missed the one by Big Ugly - Squid of Rage face._

WING SABER

_Oh, I see -_

OPTRONIX

(Asking for quiet)

_It's starting._

And indeed it is.

FLASH. BANG.

A rain of red lasers drops from the ceiling through a thick grey fog. One by one, the lasers dissipate, leaving two: eyes. The theatrical fog clears, revealing the silhouette piece by piece.

MEGAZARAK.

A black-and-silver giant, streaks of violent-red and blue. Gigantic pincers jut from his shoulders. A back turret hangs like a sword scabbard under one arm. He wears no artificial mask, but his helmet is hidden by an almost knight-like faceplate to make Optronix envious.

He wastes no time in laying out his intentions. And beyond the entrance, he indulges in no grand theatrics.

MEGAZARAK

(Booming, still reserved)

_My friends, I must welcome you all to this... convocation. Apologies must be proclaimed for the usage of masks but sadly, we do not know who to trust, and who will hurt us through our identities._

In concurrence with this last line, the giant puts his fingers to his helmet, gently pressing buttons with remove his faceplate in one piece. Underneath the mask is just a normal face, save the LONG SCARS - one from his lip to his eye, the other a simple streak along his silvery cheek. He holds the disposable faceplate up for all to see.

MEGAZARAK

_In the days of the Squids, faces were all they used, all they cared about. A scar rarely happens the same way twice. But now they are gone. Take off your faces, my Brothers of the Spark!_

Each and every face in the crowd obliges, casually pulling masks off and awaiting their leader's next soliloquy with entranced unease.

The scar gives Optronix an idea.

OPTRONIX

_Any of you seen those patterns before?_

STREETWISE

_Nay, maybe with a name we'll -_

_MEGAZARAK_

_Now, I will not hesitate to jump to our truest problem: The war against our oppressors is over, but without them to unite us we have fallen beneath them. No real government, no universal law, except what THE AUTOBOT PARAMILITARY HAS OFFERED OF ITSELF!_

Both Gamma Majors flinch, cringing slightly. Jeers from the whole crowd, invoking exactly what he expects of them. Recognizing the need right now to blend in, they join the yells during the giant's moment of silence. They don't really shout much of anything outside some Squid-esque gibberish.

MEGAZARAK

_Now, let me tell you what we propose._

He lets the crowd sit a while. Optronix has let his discomfort pass. Wing Saber, though...

MEGAZARAK

_I, Megazarak, propose we throw the Autobots out of Iacon, take it back into the common mech's control!_

The Seeker does something impulsive.

WING SABER

_You think you can take charge?_

All heads turn towards him. Even he hadn't meant to be so loud. Megazarak's shoulder pincers point accusingly towards him, then relax, turning upward again. He welcomes a bit of conflict, right? The others closer to him - including the Marshal, Streetwise and Brunt - are less pragmatic. Optronix whispers a warning we cannot hear.

WING SABER

_Iacon was made up of common mechs. Still is. Seems a bit hypocritical, right?_

More jeers from the whole crowd. His optics drift to Optronix, who flashes a tentative shrug to him before joining in.

MEGAZARAK

_Silence! Let him have his opinions. Besides, if we cannot learn anything new we might as well leave them in power. Are you willing to tell us your name?_

The Seeker really didn't expect that. A Random Plutosian - a different one this time - has murder in his optics

WING SABER

_Nope._

MEGAZARAK

_After we have made an agreement, even you: no more masks. Yet you cannot reveal a name._

And now they are all riled up. Weapons are being gripped quite tightly.

BRUNT

(Whispering)

_Nice going, genius. Can't see the exits anymore._

CLOSE UP: Megazarak's optics. Red. Narrow. Calculating.

MEGAZARAK

_You know what to do._

They do.

JUMP TO: An overhead view of the Coliseum. Silent.

Until…

BOOM.

Everything just comes leaking out at once. Yelling leaks. With plasma rifles, oversized fists, spears, eccentric Alt. Modes.

ZOOM IN: We recognize some of these "leaks" poking out through the crowd, if only momentarily. It's like everyone fighting everyone. A pod of mammals jostling through a hole in the ice for air, quickly dragged back under again.

Eventually, Wing Saber breaks free, one or two other flyers on his tail. His pistols burn orange in his hands as he turns onto his back and takes potshots at them. He jumps in the air as a 'BOT-SIZED FIREBALL flips over his shoulder.

WING SABER

_Frack!_

Now the riot is in the streets. And when a war is in Cybertronian streets, there are no civilians. The battle passes home complex after home complex, and more and more Plutosians decide to throw their weight into it. Angry civilians whip out their old weapons and come out, yelling.

A grey-armored, one-eyed OLD COOT comes running out of his hut, gripping his sniper's bayonet more like a spear than a gun. He sees the Marshal cornered by two from the meeting, charges with a spry ferocity he hasn't felt since losing his Alt. Mode. He stabs a turret walker in the upper knee, taking it down and turning the attention of a wolf in Sharkticon's clothing. The coot fires once, taking out one of the Beast Mode's oversized eyes and eliciting a decent Sharkticons growl.

Kilotron aids by planting his arm cannon firmly in the Sharkticon's face and firing.

OLD COOT

_Marshal?_

As he greets Kilotron, he sees the walker writhing at his feet, drops the bayonet into its main body.

KILOTRON

_Busy undercycle, huh? Pass it along: anyone can be an enemy. Lethal force._

He doesn't stick around long enough to hear the Old Coot say "You got it, Marshal." Kilotron's already running to a new point, pulling out a couple hidden guns and even a combat knife.

The leaves the Old Coot standing there for a moment before stuffing his rifle into the scabbard around his chest. He sees his route, plans his Transformation, even starts to perform the act, grinding gears and all. He cringes at his own forgetfulness, spots a target, hurriedly pulls his rifle back out and stops a charging flailtank dead in its tracks.

Time to spread the word.

FAST SPIN TO: Wing Saber has found Brunt. The Seeker carries the purple deputy over part of the crowd, both shooting down into the masses.

BRUNT

(Yelling)

_Seen the big one yet?_

WING SABER

_Mega-something? Not at all. Optronix?_

BRUNT

(Over rapid gunfire)

_Noth - nay, I see your man! Body shop!_

He silently thanks the deputy, then angles himself to head there.

BRUNT

_Uh-oh. Flyers!_

WING SABER

_Throwing._

BRUNT

_Wha - AAAAAAAAAAAGHH!_

He's flying - more accurately, thrown. After the panic quickly subsides, he pulls his other gun and begins unloading plasma into them.

Wing Saber stops above Optronix, who has become trapped just outside the shop's locked doors. Doors which won't last long. He joins his partner in firing outward.

ELSEWHERE: The Old Coot has passed the word around. In small groups of two to seven, the Plutosians start unleashing their own retired fighting skills.

They begin taking potshots with every weapon imaginable. Some Transform into fighting animals, combat vehicles, or even just turret mounts. The Old Coot's single eye blinks to the rhythm of the machine-rifle in mount he's standing behind - until both stop. He recognizes one of the faces in the crowd.

RANDOM PLUTOSIAN

(Nervously, shocked)

_Nice undercycle, Ratch._

COOT / RATCH

(Coldly)

_Seems it is._

He hesitates no more in opening fire. The Plutosian drops, his entire torso raining on the other Plutosians behind him, "good" and "bad" alike. If it fazes him, we can't tell. His hands cannot twitch, his face cannot so much as frown.

Streetwise pops up beside him, dragging two LONG CHAINWHIPS behind him. With a THWAPCK, he flicks one at an approaching thug, yelling some battle cry like "Enter the Pit, demons!" He cackles unsettlingly.

STROBE TO: The shop owner busts out the large window with - what is that, a FLAMETHROWER? It momentarily captures Wing Saber's eyes. The owner hops out, wearing the huge weapon's tank on his back, face scrunched and mouth sealed. Optronix yells an order to his partner.

OPTRONIX

_Merge!_

He turns, nods, and starts his Transformation process. He doesn't finish. An old-style throwing hammer slams him into the front of the building. Optronix pulls a grenade from his weapon belt, pinches the pin free, hurls it and ducks.

Silent bang. Everything collapses.

Wing Saber comes down, utterly collapsed and beaten. Optronix breaks his fall - unsteady, but neither drops to the ground.

The battle seems to have dispersed. Around them, it's a bunch of small groups facing off against one another. Optronix helps the Seeker to his feet.

WING SABER

(Weakly)

_We need to contact somebody. Kilotron, Autobot Command, someone, anyone._

OPTRONIX

_Agreed. Seen -_

Almost his entire right side disintegrates. Wing Saber hears the recoil of the weapon only as his partner falls to the ground. He wastes no time in scooping up his partner and trying to Transform, drag him up, out of danger. He fails, drops Optronix's lifeless body a metron or two to the ground. A Plutosian goes to poke at him and Wing Saber doesn't care who, he's just going to - !

KILOTRON

Friendly! Friendly!

Wing Saber touches down, relieved at the sight of someone familiar. He can forget about his own injuries now, at least.

KILOTRON

_How badly is he hurt - aside from the side he's missing?_

WING SABER

_Can't tell. Any medics in this town?_

Wordlessly, he holds up one finger. Then the Marshal yells.

KILOTRON

_RATCH!_

The Old Coot comes running. He's covered in blue-purple bodily fluids and silvery scratches. Wing Saber examines the lack of face and hands, then glances up at the red wings still in place on the Plutosian's forehead - medic's wings. His large blue orb seems to change shades to a softer blue.

He wastes no time in crouching to examine what's left of Optronix's body. With the remains of a mangled hand he nudges very gently at the Major's intact arm.

RATCH

(Noticeably modulated)

_He's alive. We need medical transport here immediately._

WING SABER

_Understood. Marshal, where's your comm tower?_

KILOTRON

_Not far, we can make it within a breem. Come on._

They begin walking, with urgency. Ratch remains at Optronix's side. He doesn't have long.

Another Plutosian is stumbling up behind him. His eye darkens considerably. Without turning he pulls the rifle from its scabbard and fires. The Plutosian hobbles a moment longer, then drops. In several pieces. Antique weapons are not user friendly, especially in the realm of power settings. He could've done this, any citizen could've done it, any soldier on Cybertron could have done it.

Still, his eye grows in intensity, reflecting on this knowledge. Gradually, the blue orb softens, enveloping the Plutosian medic, and then, slowly, the rest of our view...

GRADUAL FLASH TO:

**EXT. FORGE - ELSEWHERE ON CYBERTRON - PERMANENT UNDERCYCLE**

An arena. High walls. Lit by blazing strobes, constantly in a state of combat-based wreckage. We could say it looks like one gigantic can of exploded soup. The surrounding world is obscured almost entirely in space-blackness. What little we see is black and lumpy, like rock, with the occasional glints of Energon.

SLOW PUSH IN:

We see the rim of this can. There's a bug on its side - more accurately, a gigantic black bug with pincers and blue-violet stripes. Slowly, our view angles itself to peer like a curious child over Megazarak's shoulder.

Two Cybertronian combatants - little grey specks to us - dance an ancient, aggressive ritual. The applause, cheers and assorted cheers block out all other sound.

We turn to Megazarak's face: he's watching carefully, calculating. Slowly, the grim line of his mouth becomes a smirk. He cradles his cannon under his left arm. The scarlines in his face slowly twist, following the crack of a smile. Red eyes grow narrow, intent. Plutosis was a bust, but he has other plans. Great plans, whose effects will be felt across the entirety of this planet.

MEGAZARAK

_With any luck, it will Fracture. And what follows..._

He pulls a piece of metal from a belt: his mask. He attaches the thing to his forehead, slides the faceplate down, masking his scars, leaving only his eyes.

FADE TO:

Black. Silent.

S.O. (text, typing):

_"To be continued..."_


	3. Liquidation pt II

**Liquidation, Ch II - Truthspeaker**

FADE IN:

**INT. PLUTOSIS SICKBAY - WELL-LIT**

A blank wall. That's the first thing we see. A blank white wall, in all its sterile, mundane glory. Mundane fear, too. No wall should be that empty, that lifeless, that sickeningly pristine, not when these walls hold such death and damage.

Wing Saber sits on the waiting bench, blue optics glaring into the wall as if expecting it to move for him. It would do no such thing. But all this sitting isn't doing him any good. No way it can do anyone any good.

Ratch approaches from his right, stops over him.

RATCH

_You can enter now._

The Autobot Seeker nods.

WING SABER

_Thank you._

He gets up, hurriedly throws aside a medical tarp and enters the cubicle. Inside, Optronix is stretched out on a sterile silver table. One arm is gone - and with it more than a sizable chunk of his torso, pieces of his leg and head. Wires and medical tubes run in and out of him through an almost-'bot-sized console on the side opposite Wing Saber. Kilotron hovers over the Major patiently.

WING SABER

_Any news on our rogue faction?_

A shake of a head.

KILOTRON

_Not a thing. Except…_

Optronix's eyes have finally opened.

KILOTRON

_Good. You're finally awake._

OPTRONIX

(right to business)

_We need to find out more about this... Fracture. And Megazarak. Bigger... than we thought. Missing._

(urgently)

_Head back to Iakon. Take - ..._

He wants to say "Take Kilotron". Wing Saber sees the awkward look between his Autobot partner, and the Marshal.

WING SABER

_What is it?_

Kilotron's arm comes out as if to punch the wall, fist clenched. He doesn't do so. His head is lowered.

Long moment of silence. Optronix slumps back again, this little incursion claiming some of his precious energy.

But he answers the question.

OPTRONIX

(weak)

_He's the Marshal. Stays... with his Node._

Suddenly Wing Saber understands. He must go on this little incursion himself. Alone.

WING SABER

_Iakon probably has some intel on any part of this. I'll head there, you... you just get better, alright?_

KILOTRON

_I'll stay with him, best I can. Promise._

Wing Saber nods, promptly leaves. He has work to do.

Ratch follows closely behind, curious.

RATCH

_Leaving already, flyer?_

WING SABER

(not stopping)

_Keep your orb on the Major. I should be back soon._

He enters the doorway, gets a small running start before Transforming, flying upward into the cavelike ceiling, and beyond…

**EXT. CYBERTRONIAN WILDERNESS - PERMANENT DUSK**

The multicolored Seeker flies over the barren surface of Cybertron between polities. It's barren, not even the Sharkticons live here. Wild cracks in the ground capable of fitting whole cities between them; the whole world is the yellow-rust of DEATH. It may zoom beneath him, but it is all the same.

Overhead, the rust has become the color of the clouds, which stretch like an evil embrace around this whole world. A few stars poke through the grimy air, but not many. In a way, many Cybertronians believe they are forever trapped here, that the sky beyond those clouds simply cannot be real!

ANECDOTE: There is some life in this land. Somewhere below Wing Saber, a little TURBOWOLF limps across the dead, flat ground. She's been starved for cycles, at least one leg is broken, bent out of place. The Seeker passes overhead, like an Angel of the Zodiac! Dim eyes suddenly spark with hope, some rescue must come for her! But alas, the thing overhead simply passes by without ever seeing her. She hangs her head, last flecks of hope gone, ready to die.

Wing Saber's engines - and the cold Devastator winds - these are all that we can hear. They're like the voices of two victims screaming out in pain from different sides of the same battlefield.

He travels the rest of the way to Iakon. Eventually, two red-clad armored flyers slip into formation on either side of him.

AUTOBOT FLYER

(over comms)

_Designation, mission._

WING SABER

(comms)

_Wing Saber, Duon Gamma Major, intelligence gathering._

AUTOBOT FLYER

_Clear for entry into Iakon, Major. Will escort to aboveground docking station._

The last little bit of the trip has them doing exactly that. Up ahead, jutting from the ruin like one of many silvery claws, is the aboveground zone of IAKON: the Autobot fortress. It only grows larger as they approach it - we see swooping spires like thin metal ribbons; a long spike several kilometers high, glittering with multicolored flares of light like a little tower of stars.

But not without even darker aspects of it: far below us but by no means near the ground, golden walls half a kilometer high, scuffed to ashy oblivion by countless battles - Squids, Sharkticons, even a few crazed Cybertronians. They're almost as thick as they are tall, and form a perfect ring around the whole base.

We watch the three-man flyer group slowly move closer; our point of reference is fixed. It seems to swallow them, absorb them into its own improbably massive being. They're being cleared entry for the underground zone.

IAKON TOWER OPERATOR

(O.S, over comms)

_Autobot Major, cleared for entry to Iakon underzone. Enter aerotunnel Epsilon-Epta._

A circular lid meant for something far larger than one regular-sized Seeker blows open, and he flies through.

Inside, he's going down some monster's throat - perhaps literally, if some of the rumors about large Cybertronian structures were true. Green, blue and purple lights shoot in sequence down the long winding tube, guiding him down, deeper into the grand complex around him.

In time, the tunnel glows a translucent red, then fully transparent.

**EXT. IAKON UNDERZONE - WELL-LIT CAVE**

Outside (sort of), we see the city below, burrowed into a cave like so many other Cybertronian polities. Flyers, various-sized flags of the AUTOBOT PARAMILITARY, towers jutting from the cave ceiling and floor, his little tube crawling and weaving between stalactite structures. Several others empty into his before splitting into several more roads leading to somewhere.

Guidelights point him to Autobot High Command, the massive hourglass complex stretching down from the ceiling to the ground and beyond in both directions.

He emerges from the tunnel in front of the complex, descends towards the bottom entrance, Transforms.

CLOSE UP: he gazes up at the titanic structure. It looks a little like some grand Alt. Mode for some Titan he cannot possibly imagine, its life forgotten long before he was a Spark. It's been a while since he last even saw it, even longer since he'd entered.

Slowly, a little apprehensive, he walks into the belly of the beast. We watch, outsiders, and he disappears inside...

SHIFT TO:

**INT. PLUTOSIS SICKBAY - WELL-LIT**

Kilotron's kept his promise: he's sitting by Optronix's bed when his helmet comms go on the fritz. Buzzing, a flashing red light, the whole nine kliks.

Optronix, remains of his bad arm now sealed inside a silvery, roughly limb-shaped chamber, sits up.

OPTRONIX

_Call?_

KILOTRON

_I have to go. Stay here._

OPTRONIX

_What is it?_

KILOTRON

(dry, appreciating the irony)

_Stay. Here. I gotta go._

With that, he walks out of the sickbay cubicle, into the corridor, out the rotting, oil-stained door into the Node Plutosis.

The streets are empty, most inhabitants ordered back into their homes for their own safety. No repairs necessary (according to martial law), no real enemy to sink into old habits against, just isolation.

We see the Marshal decide the alternative is worse. For now, what Plutosians remain are safe.

TRACKING - KILOTRON:

We follow Kilotron as he moves through the empty streets, not sure what he's looking for. Patrolling, yes, but for what? And why? After surviving what they had, the threat was gone. He kind of guesses the Autobots did their job. But now one was having his arm rebuilt and the other had been sent back home to investigate something else.

CRASH.

Somewhere off to his left, out of our vision. We stay behind him as he turns to investigate.

His footsteps thud softly against the ground, and he knows he's a bit closer to the source because we hear it again, only much louder - and therefore much closer.

We're now somewhere between two silverstone huts, some Cybertronian alley complete with a large energy wastebin and vandal in question.

Except it's not even a vandal at all. It's a diminutive Cybertronian. A Transformer. And a Plutosian. Mostly black armor (noticeable dirty, mud-caked, stained in places by raw Energon), little silver frame-bits poking out. Odd-shaped head and shoulder antennae.

The Marshal keeps watching a little longer, and sees the small vandal seize, a wave of purple-blue sparks rippling in waves across her body.

She. Some of the physical markers make sense now. Slightly smaller build than average, head markings, all of it. A rare anomaly among Cybertronians, given its own identity. But not impossible to see in places.

Then he sees the broken shards. Embedded in her body and the ground around her. The hut she is propping her back up against is deserted, but some defense countermeasure has been left there. Like a shard cannon.

He approaches slowly, deliberately, with caution.

KILOTRON

_I'm the Marshal. Are you… okay?_

No reply. It takes several moments for her to even look up.

Her optics are an equally puzzling color: green. She takes a moment to speak.

VANDAL

(dejectedly)

_Howdy, Marshal._

And nothing else. Kilotron takes another step closer. Two.

KILOTRON

_You need medical attention. I can take you back to Sickbay._

No reply. The vandal only chuckles a little.

VANDAL

_But don't leave your post, right? Abandon your duties, let it all go and move on. And the war - what war? Don't you mean life?_

It's a bit off-putting. In two sentences she slices into his Spark with the most nonchalant, innocent voice manageable.

VANDAL (cont'd)

_It's all lies, Marshal. Deception on their tongues. Destruction._

KILOTRON

_I don't know who you've been talking to…_

VANDAL

_And I'm not telling you._

Movement of her optics and hands tell him it's time to go. She'd said her piece, and left him in the right state of pondering. And pain, that's another chunk of what he feels. Pain can be carried, like energy through a conductor.

He walks away. Intuition tells him there will be no more threats to Plutosis, not for many cycles. But that doesn't mean he can't remain out on patrol. Some of the greatest dangers aren't enemies at all.

And as he does, his cannon-arm tenses and loosens rapidly, hands clasping in and out of fists fast as the observant optic can follow. He won't abandon his post, not again. Can't. Not for some poison-tongued fembot, not a conspiracy in which he cannot see his part, not a friend he protects even now through his work.

He won't let them down again.

DISSOLVE TO:

**INT. IAKON HIGH COMMAND CENTER - INFILTRATION DIVISION**

It's taken a curious amount of time - and more checkpoints than he can think about, but he's reached his destination: the Infiltrator Dealer's homebase. He's not sure what he expects, but not a small meeting room with a sparse number of monitors and coordinators in desk-consoles along all four walls. In the center, a small meeting table meant for a handful of these people at most has been molded in the shape of an Autobot insignia. How very modest, the Seeker finds himself thinking.

COMMANDER PUNCH

_Enjoying the decorations, Seeker?_

Remembering what disciplines he can, he snaps to attention. He hears the Commander chuckling smoothly, with modulation enough to suggest incredible oral distortive abilities. The Autobots mostly blue and yellow, little hints of red here and there, visor, short antennae and a somehow formal-looking scowl on an open mouth.

COMMANDER PUNCH

_No need for that rigidity here. That's soldier stuff, we're a spy unit._

Wing Saber senses there's something he's going to add to that.

PUNCH

_So when we heard you were inquiring about an Infiltrator, I knew you'd be pretty sorely disappointed. Please, walk with me._

One Cybertronian habit evolved for survival is the desire to keep moving. In soldiers, in cautious self-proclaimed "diplomats", even in spies whose job it is to watch and wait… and run.

Punch leads Wing Saber out the room, down a hall. The ceiling goes up a bit. Stray gears and spikes, devoid of whatever function they held for centuries now, jut down from that ceiling like corpses in chains. It's not meant to make him uncomfortable, but it does all the same.

PUNCH

_Closest thing we have to regulation is a rule: as little in or out as possible. If an Infiltrator can slip back to deliver a message themselves, they do so. Dealer got this out: a breakaway faction with agents in every polity on the planet._

WING SABER

_The Fracture._

PUNCH

_Didn't find out any names, not any that he gave. Even as an agent, the mech was unpredictable._

WING SABER

_Anything else?_

PUNCH

_Your suspected cult leader: Megazarak. No name, but rumor has it he saw some stuff during the Revolution, even before then, possibly as a gladiator for the Squids._

The scars. That's what it is. He keeps listening, keeps walking.

WING SABER

_Do go on._

PUNCH

_That's it. Be careful. All my agents, for one, have made this their immediate priority. Plenty more I simply can't tell you._

That's the end of the talk. Wing Saber gets a little feeling that this spy is doing his job: putting on a face. He doesn't want some dumb flyboy hanging around his people any longer than he has to.

Still, all of this just only makes some sense to the Seeker. Any answers would have to come later, that's just the way it was. He didn't like it, but it'd be more than enough to follow what trails he could.

We see him silently part ways with Punch at a hallway intersection - clever little tactic, the walking was - and he heads off on his own. No more questions, just following this new trail. Which was nothing. But he'd find a way. For his partner. For all of them.

CROSSFADE - CONTINUOUS:

**EXT. IAKON TRANSPORT**

A couple large transports stand in waiting, hovering in place, metal planks bridging the gap which passengers can walk across to reach their destinations. All of this is piecemeal, Wing Saber realizes. He certainly knew there was so much the Squids would not let them access, leaving them dependent on their masters' scraps, but it was not quite apparent. Now he looks around, sees the mismatched plating, maintenance 'bots with welding torches and cabled scaffolding - and thrown-down boards preventing Autobots from falling to probable death on the jagged rocks below.

He doesn't have the slightest clue where he's going next, but if his partner just kept on being in bad shape, he should have enough time to find something more out, at least. And hopefully find more sincerely helpful people than that spy.

Through his pilot's faceplate, he grins. He'll get his own chance to be a spy.

An Autobot travel conductor calls out some polity name he doesn't quite catch, probably modulated as badly as Punch's voxbox.

That's where he decides he's going. He approaches that area of the docks, sees only a few Auotobots boarding. Most of them are the black-blue-white of some unit whose name Wing Saber can't remember. They do, however, have wings and crosses on their insignias. Something tells him he'll need to remember that.

The conductor sees him. It's a slightly larger fellow with a blocky blue helmet and a pair of freely-spinning wheels on either forearm. Clearly meant to muscle down any suspicious characters, like a very confused-seeming lone Seeker.

CONDUCTOR

_Passage with these fine mechs, then?_

WING SABER

_Yes. Well… no. But I'm headed where they're headed._

This answer, it seems, is good enough for him. He opens one hand, wheels still spinning in opposite directions, inviting Wing Saber to step inside the dropship. He nods to the mech, and does so.

A few kliks later, the orange four-winged ship pulls up its plank, slowly descending downward before heavy thrusters kick in. A little upward SWOOP and they're headed for the Anchorless Node…

**INT. PLUTOSIS SICKBAY**

Optronix lays exactly where we've left him, metal cocoon reassembling his shattered left arm through gnarly processes he doesn't think much about. Smelting random alloys, molding them and cooling around the original frame based on a scan of his other arm, that was how it's done these days. He doesn't mutter to break the silence, doesn't reminisce about painful things, moan for his distant partner, just sits there and lets this strange machine do its work.

The machine turns off, leaving behind a silence he didn't realize had been filled by the quiet hum of machinery. If he recalls correctly, now comes the really hard part.

Ratch walks in, throwing aside the little tarp marking his cubicle. A single eye devoid of emotion gazes intently at him. Could be intending to offline him and smelt him for transplant parts, could just want to take his vitals. An Empurata is a terrifyingly ambiguous thing to behold.

The faceless one speaks.

RATCH

_Time for phase two._

He approaches the reconstruction console, drill prosthetic in hand, and begins disassembling the apparatus. Optronix also sees the spools of wire dangling from a tool belt, along with several extra appendages. He works silently.

OPTRONIX

_How badly'd you slag off the Squids?_

Again, that face-consuming blue orb faces him with that cold… whatever it was under there. Then, with an aged sigh, the mangled medic spins his tale, drill softly whirring in the background.

ANECDOTE: Each piece of the apparatus as it is taken apart. Several layers of metallic barrier coming off in plates around the arm, severing an external power cable, pocketing several screws into a belt pouch.

RATCH

_Ah, 'twere a while back, probably afore you were forged. I was a medic for their fighting bits. The Forges, those were called in the age. A bot has something to prove to a Squid, like how fast he can get torn apart, he heads there. And I piece 'em back together, time and time again, until finally they're extinguished for good. One time too many, I also gave 'em pointers, how to knock their opponent down. I seen 'em all fight for a while, you understand._

ANECDOTE: Now we see the arm, good as new minus a few scuffs, metallic imperfections and a grungey look. Two or three loose wires still pop out of his arm like needles. The medic puts away his torch and replaces both hands: a pincer arm and a cutter. But before he begins this next step, he looks into the fellow Cybertronian's optics, somehow reaching a little deeper.

RATCH (cont'd)

_Take me back in between matches with a pair of Sharks, all five faces laughing in a way you'd never have known about. Oh, I kicked and hollered all I could, up 'till my voxbox came out. They took my optics out, taking a lot of my face with. Pulled my hands out, wires and all. The fire rushing into my wrists is something I hope to never feel again._

Beat.

RATCH (cont'd)

_Hooked me up this here pretty-looking thing (taps face), sent me right back out there, med-belt just like this'n still tied around my waist. Mech flew to bits a klik into the match, and soon all them Squids was laughing like the one took my face._

Good, cheery story.

RATCH

_You'll LOVE this part._ (makes snipping gesture with cutter arm)

The Major nods for him to begin. Without another word he tightens the pliers around the cable running into his elbow, jerks outward hard enough for Optronix to grunt a little, cleanly snips of the spent end where it'd touched the inner frame. Sanitation and all that. The length which remains in the Autobot's arm will become something like nerve endings, once they begin aligning the limb with its owner and make final touches.

He repeats the process, dropping the snipped ends of the cables into yet another pouch on his belt and placing the rest of each length back into their resting places alongside the rest of the discarded apparatus. They would be used again as material for new limbs, new contraptions. Little goes to waste on Cybertron, that much the Squids had made sure of.

RATCH

_Try moving it best you can, same with your good arm. I'll be back to check on your progress._

He pulls back the tarp and leaves the cubicle.

For a moment, Optronix just sits there. Then, slowly, begins trying to flex his fingers. Nothing. Flexes the fingers on his right arm. Something, but he's got to do it on his other arm as well. The one that, only a few cycles ago, had been whole, and then reduced to metal vapor. With any luck he'll be back with Wing Saber in no time.

Outside his cubicle, the amputee medic Ratch examines the damage to other Plutosians. Including one or two of what he'd been told were called "the Fracture". Three or four cubicles over, an orange-and-purple mech with new wheels for legs writhed in sadness against the wall railing, arms trembling. He's Ratch's next patient, and he's got murder on his mind.

RATCH

_How's the pain?_

WHEEL-LEGGED FRACTURE

_You slimy Squid-lover, you took my LEGS!_

With newfound strength he launches himself at the medic, who promptly throws him to the ground, gripping one of his new legs by the spokes. Does a little twist, letting the patient get acquainted with his new mode of transport. Letting him know that it's a limb now, and he'll feel its pain as his own. He groans, twists on the hard floor. All the while, Ratch's faceless orb observes, almost calmly. Inside he can be boiling with rage for those he's lost, damages done to he and others, and none of it would reflect on the outside.

RATCH

_You're a prisoner. Not only that, but your "activities" in the Node? The missing people? The rituals, the dead-undercycle demonstrations?_

Between muted screams of pain, the legless Fracture spits his truth.

WHEEL-LEGGED FRACTURE

_Don't… know… what you're… talking about!_

The medic releases his grip. He's done enough.

RATCH

_And?_

WHEEL-LEGGED FRACTURE

(little sobs of pain and confusion)

_We didn't do rituals. We just met for… discussions. Talks, that's all it was! That undercycle was supposed to be our first ceremony, I swear on my spared limbs!_

So the dead they'd recovered, supposedly, had not been the Fracture's doing. Already, Ratch puts a little more stock in the Duon's case, about whatever they were after. Not just this faction, but what went on beyond their little Node.

If he takes back his little outburst, what then? Instead, he simply hoists his patient back up onto his wheels, steadies him as his hand reaches back to the wall railing.

RATCH

_Focus on maintaining constant movement. Balance comes after. Until we can get you some proper rebuilding equipment, at least. You'll want to rescan, too. Something with treads, maybe._

The legless Transformer doesn't know how to reply. Nor does the medic know what the chances are of this Fracture returning to his friends once he recovers. And until that cycle comes it's not a priority. He has more patients to attend to.

SLOW FADE OUT:

Brief blackness. Silence. Some noise coming from the background, like machinery, or something with a pulse.

Slow crescendo. It keeps building, until we recognize...

Music. Throbbing, pounding music. Heavy, syncopated drums; some play a steady beat while others shift meter constantly, changing to match their stage in the fight. Noisy stringed instruments slide up and down chords in unpredictable, aggressive patterns. Distorted vox-synths sing their ancient chant: XESOI XESOI XESOI XESOI!

"Kill, kill, kill, kill."

**INT. ARENA - THE FORGE - HEAVY LIGHT**

Floodlights strobe endlessly over the long cylindrical column of their coliseum. Hundreds of metrons above us, we see a flyer - a Seeker - dangling by the leg from a chain. Spectators on all sides stretch from what we can assume is ground level to the ceiling; we see neither the top nor the bottom, only the combatants in between.

The Seeker's other leg has been torn off, both dorsal wings are bent beyond any hope of use. The chants only grow as he sways back and forth, in circles, moaning for the final blows to finally be dealt. The crowd only keeps chanting in imperfect time, now resorting to throwing things: chain-grenades, discarded pieces of vehicles and armor plating, even a head from a previous fight.

MEGAZARAK is perched against a little ledge, his own chain in hand. He's masked. His cannon rests under one arm. He looks out, hears the Sigma-knows-how-many in the stands eager for blood. This is not the war he imagined, but it is the war that must be fought. A spotlight settles on him and he knows this fight must continue.

Dozens more chains dangle around the maimed Seeker. All that's left is to give a good swing, grab a hold of something and empty his cartridge into his enemy.

SPECTATORS

_XESOI! XESOI! XESOI! SHI'IQA XESOI DEUN MEGAZARAQA! XESOI! XESOI! XESOI! SHI'IQA XESOI DEUN MEGAZARAQA!_

It's time. He grips the chain wrapped around his left arm, pushes off from his ledge. Swings out.

He doesn't hear a single amplified voice shout a new command:

"SHAKE THE CHAINS."

Without warning, his chain drops, lowering Megazarak a few more metrons away from his target. He starts unwinding it from around his other arm, preparing to leap to another (oscillating up and down randomly), when suddenly he is yanked upward by a good twelve metrons. The Seeker's chain drops now, pulling him away from his would-be killer. This is a test, no doubt about it. And something to rile up the crowd. If possible, they'll want him to make it look easy, should any others try their hand in this arena in the future.

Everything's unstable now. If he loses his grip, and his timing's off by a microsecond, he'll likely not recover before the big splat. He steels himself, fully uncoils the chain on his arm, swings himself to another, sliding down along a length equal to his height before his grip tightens. He starts pulling himself up, climbing with all fours. He estimates the Seeker to be maybe five chains away, along a length about six times his height.

He formulates a plan, ruby-red optics never moving, even through his mask, from his target. Even as his chain pulls him up and down his gaze remains there. And above…

Climbs upward, enough that he remains constantly above the Seeker. The strobe of heavy lights from all angles reflects off the mechs, the chains, forming a constantly-moving omnidirectional spotlight on the Fracture leader.

Now he must act quickly. His plan is still a plan, but he's not given much room for error.

He gathers his momentum, getting the oscillating chain swinging back and forth in the direction of the Seeker below - now at eye level - now a lethal fall below him!

Yelling a little, he releases his grip with both hands, leaping outward, two chains slapping him in the arm and shoulder but letting him pass to another length beyond them. The Seeker is two chains away.

As his current handhold reaches maximum height he leaps out again, catching the chain between them and shifting his weight to keep himself propelling forward: to the final chain. Maybe ten metrons above where his enemy dangles. Here comes his next momentary respite.

The chants break quickly into a silver-black din of cheers, the resumes with the drums reaching a fortissimo. With a free right arm he pats the cannon at his side, willing it to move like any other servomotor in his body.

He loosens his grip on the chain, letting himself ride downward until he is certain he will land on top of the hanging Seeker.

Then lets go completely.

With all his force he catches the flyer, sending both hurtling, severing him from the leg that held him in place.

All we see is a tangle of falling frames.

A single cannon blast. An explosion. The Five Chugs as the fighter Transforms on his way down. The silent firing of hover-treads. A cannon blast aimed at the ground. All the debris throws off the lights, rendering the hover-tank inside invisible. Everything keeps falling, gathering speed, to heights which surely would kill a non-propelled Cybertronian Alt. Mode. No one wants to think about how far down the arena goes. Acrophobia is a rare trait amongst Cybertronians, but certain places forged exceptions.

Not the prettiest landing, but after a moment of silence the shrapnel clears, and the spotlight settles on a levitating hunk of silvery metal with a turret attached.

A Transformation back to Robot Mode. Megazarak touches the ground, walks along the stony floor to retrieve what remains of the Seeker's head. Brushing off some of the dirt and grime from an earlier stage in the match, he holds the trophy up. Cheers from the crowd, a new chant:

SPECTATORS

_VICTORIO DEUN MEGAZARAQA! VICTORIO! VICTORIO! VICTORIO DEUN MEGAZARAQA!_

All up along the tunnel of this tall coliseum, pillars, shield-barriers and bleachers line the world in spiraling rings, climbing ever upward to the invisible ceiling.

Now the match is over. The drums stop. The vox-synths stop. Frozen in time as the victor gives his final remarks. If they so desire, they can issue a challenge to a future warrior.

He does so, removing his mask as he's gathered is their custom. He wonders how much cooperation will cost, considering how much they have in common. At least on the surface.

MEGAZARAK

_Where is your mech in charge?_

Silence. No one answers. He waits for one, throwing the head aside, its purpose gone now except reclamation. On no side does anything go to waste.

But the silence is left unoccupied.

MEGAZARAK

_I want to speak with him._

Megazarak concludes that he will not see this MASTER. Not today, not anytime soon.

He will simply see more challenges.

A distant CRASH.

MASTER

(over loudspeaker, echoing off infinite surfaces, swallowing all other sound)

_Prove yourself, then._

A new voice: some presenter with a worse case of Singing Vox than Megazarak has ever heard before. Calm, smooth, deadly cold.

SINGING VOX

_Second challenge. Defending combatant: Megazarak. New offender:_

(beat)

_SHARKTICONS._

Oh, the crowd goes wild over that. This new enemy comes from the ground. The music starts up again; Megazarak realizes it's a different "song" this time. The drums carry a different tune, the voxes of the crowd chant with a different tone. That's when he realizes that there's likely someone whose sole job is to start a chant for each match. Somehow that lightens the moment just a little. When he's overrun, it'll be campy. It'll even have its own sound as he's ripped to shreds.

SPECTATORS

_SHAROQ! SHAROQ! SHAROQ VE MEGAZARAQA! SHAROQ! SHAROQ!_

MEGAZARAK

_Fine, then..._

He readies his cannon. The pincers on his helmet seem to tighten a little. He secures his mask back in place.

To his right, a door he didn't realize existed suddenly lifts. Several pairs of hungry eyes stare back at him. He can hear their growls from here.

If another battle is what it takes, that's what it takes. As one version of the saying goes, "War? Don't you mean life?"

JUMP TO:

Black. We hear their stomps as they emerge.

S.O. (text, typing)

_Continued..._

(translated:)

_Iqine..._


	4. Liquidation pt III

**Liquidation, Ch III - Truthspeaker**

Comms static.

OPEN ON:

**EXT. OUTSIDE NODE PLUTOSIS SICKBAY - OVERCYCLE**

Optronix emerges from the dull grey building, his bad arm now almost back to full function, but still marked by a more rusty red color than the rest of his body. He rubs it briefly with his right, then hears the noise in his helmet.

The Marshal Kilotron emerges behind him. Here to see him off. Up ahead, an Autobot dropship has come to help him leave this grand place. Twin wing foils fold above the gold-orange box's roof, and the plank comes down. Meanwhile, the Major answers his comm.

OPTRONIX

_Optronix, go ahead._

DISPATCHER

(Over comms)

_Optronix, Dispatcher. Routing to Sergeant Kup._

(clicking as lines are changed)

KUP

_Hear you were nearly disintegrated. Hope you're better now, because… your partner._

OPTRONIX

_What about him?_

Behind him, Kilotron starts to take a step closer. But that's a violation of sorts. He takes a step back, waits until his friend is off the comms.

KUP

(over comms)

_He's in -_

Outside the Autobot's helmet, Kilotron sees Optronix nod several times. Then he concludes by repeating what he assumes to be a list of Autobot-coded coordinates, or some insider thing like that. Not meant for him. Then the line cuts, and Optronix turns to begin making his final remarks.

OPTRONIX

_Stay out of trouble, Marshal._

KILOTRON

(chuckling)

_You too. Major._

They conclude with a secret handshake and a salute. Soldiers always need to know who's who. And such tiny gestures become reminders - who someone was, who they will always be.

That is a Cybertronian goodbye between comrades.

Optronix has to go fetch Wing Saber so they, too, can decide on a secret handshake. He jogs lightly towards the dropship, leaps onto the plank and pulls it up behind himself. A sliding door is pulled shut - almost shut, jamming in the "almost-shut" position before a good tug seems to convince it.

POV: Kilotron. He sees the thing lift off, and another friend leaves him. But no matter what, he will stay. Our field of vision closes as the Marshal squints.

FOCUS ON: His face. Subtly, it twists into something of sadness. Missing someone. Missing great multitudes. Knowing they won't come back, but that squint to his optics becomes mournful, afraid to look into the light.

That's the last of Node Plutosis in this story for a while.

**INT. DROPSHIP CARGO BAY - WELL-LIT**

This particular dropship is grimy, dirty on the inside. Not well-maintained, as evidenced by the stubborn door. Optronix reaches for a guardrail as the ship pulls up sharply, probably louder inside the cabin than outside. As the world becomes fluid his head is rocked on his neck servos, turning sharply to see the broad-winged SCANNING TEMPLATE strapped down just across from him on the other side of the room. The Major gets a little more nervous just looking at it. Already his grip on the handrail is breaking in new servos in the remolded arm.

DROPSHIP PILOT

(from the cockpit)

_So, where's High Command sending you, soldier?_

OPTRONIX

_The Node in the Sky. Aeronexus._

DROPSHIP PILOT

_Well, good thing that template's there. Wouldn't want to be the idiot caught outside the Stable Zone without wings._

Optronix chuckles. He's a hovertruck, yes, but hover-vehicles don't fly. That's for flying things. Like his partner. And for a winged Duon with some of his partner's natural... dispositions.

The dropship lurches again, and one of the template's straps makes a SNAPPING noise.

OPTRONIX

_No. No, I would not._

DROPSHIP PILOT

_We'll be flattening out soon. Hang on until -_

(another major lurch)

_...We get there._

The pilot gives a little snort of the vox. Optronix wonders if Wing Saber couldn't have put him up to this, somehow. When they see each other he'll have to ask.

EXTERNAL SHOT: their ship breaks surface, wing foils unfurled, rapidly moving away from the little smokestack-like fang emerging a decent distance from the Cybertronian soil. The dirty clouds clog the view of space, trapping the planet-locked vehicle under layers of air and toxin. Only toxic to Cybertronians.

Optronix doesn't rescan often, but every soldier does it multiple times in their career. Sometimes it's physically painful, sometimes no more than a momentary jolt as every molecule in the body rearranges itself. He rotates his left shoulder, bends his elbow, flexes his fingers. Now or never, he supposes.

He squats next to the blank-grey flying vehicle. A blue light flashes from his optics, traces every inch of the vehicle with laser-precision. Still squatting, he moves around it to the other side. A bit ugly and misshapen, but symmetrical. Smashed-in nose, but he hoped that wouldn't translate. A small lurch, but he can resume gathering data. Slightly curled wings. External fuel modules, he wasn't equipped with those. But Cybertronians make do, and so he processes, internalizes the data. Then returns to his original position. And waits for the unpleasant part to come.

FORWARD TO:

**EXT. "NODE" AERONEXUS - CLOUDY - VAGUELY STARLIT**

Aeronexus. A semi-perfect amalgam of every "floating city" imaginable. Shaped a bit like an inverted top-hat, with heavy thrusters taking up most of the city's bulk, surface stretched beyond thin by urban use, almost like overflowing froth from a cup. Filthy exhaust pipes expel multicolored fumes on all sides. If one squints, they may see the several thin cables keeping this place from drifting. Tethered to some great landform below that might've once had a name.

The Autobot dropship shrinks as it approaches. We see the vague outlines of streets, patrolling Seekers in uniform white and blue, labor flyers from haulers to elaborate performers. Two flyers - probable forge-twins - perform concentric ailerons around the dropper as it pulls itself close. But uniforms seem to scare them off long enough to fasten lines to the ship's hull and reel it in.

CLOSE ON: the plank drops. Below it, who-knows-how-far to fall before burning up. Or hitting the ground, less likely.

Optronix doesn't look much different when he disembarks, if any. The temporary bridge wobbles a little under his feet.

DROPSHIP PILOT

_Hey! You lose that, you catch it._

Were it to go with him still on it, he wouldn't have much choice. But he makes it across safely, and that's when he looks up.

A Marshal is waiting for him, marked by the dirty off-white armor and arm-mounted cannon. Although, to Optronix's eyes, it looks like a nosecone with a scary grille. COSMITRON, the Sergeant had said.

The pilot leaps carefree over the plank, pulls it free behind him, goes about his business. Optronix doesn't know how anyone does their business here, but that mech must put a lot of faith in his ship's safety.

The wind here is enough to induce a permanent sense of unease, even as the Major approaches the Marshal. As he does, he crosses over several sets of THICK COLORED LINES: outermost red, yellow, inner green.

COSMITRON

(noticing discomfort)

_You'll get used to it. Cosmitron, local law. "The hungry fox cries empty."_

OPTRONIX

_"Still, nothing down its pipe." Optronix, Duon Gamma Major. I'm here for my partner, I was told he's here._

COSMITRON

_Y'see… that's where our problem lies._

That's how to get Optronix's attention. But he's busy trying to get his internal gyros to realize he's not flying - the whole world is. He doubles over, nearly taking two smaller mechs in safety stripes with him.

COSMITRON

_Like I said, you'll…_

The Major gags. The turmoil's reaching his vox.

COSMITRON

(clashing combination of sympathy and mild apathy)

_Soon, maybe? Any klik now would be nice. Some… have it worse than others._

They'll move soon. Even if he has to drag this Autobot there himself. But with another moment, he's up. And to Cosmitron, that's the signal to go.

Both are already walking, trying to brush past civilians of all colors, not one of them without what he assumes is a required Alt. Mode. Every polity has its perks, and its rules. Fine by him, as long as he gets to leave.

Vendors selling things the Major hardly thinks about. More skyfaring performers, Cybertronians just hoping to get on with their days. Most are built slim, tall and pointy, with the occasional gangly kibble-bit of a booster engine or even a full set of wings. A handful wide-built he can pick out of a crowd, most marked in what he realizes is uniform stripes, likely a local company. Heavy freight teams mentioned before. He's never seen buildings set up this way, either: tightly packed, often stacked three or four high. Alt. Modes and flight packs, ladders and guide railing everywhere, and almost always with someone climbing about in some odd position. Crates and cylinders are carried by groups over the crowd's heads, lost to his peripheral vision.

He has to shout to the Marshal. The mass thins out enough that we can see him holding his hands protectively over his holsters. He doesn't see any other pistols out here, probably some rule or environmental factor making them useless. He hasn't heard anything, but knows they won't be his first combat measure.

OPTRONIX

(impatient, yelling, vox distorting at high volume)

_So where's Wing Saber!?_

The Marshal points with his cannon arm, never stopping but simply turning a sharp corner. Optronix nearly loses him, strains his vision and follows. It's around a corner, what he assumes to be a "block" (cube, more like), and he finds the white uniform again with ease. Probably why it's that way. Cosmitron even raises his hand, curls his fingers in a gesture the Major takes to mean "you'll find out, just follow me".

Smoke wafts over him, and he realizes he's walked into a yellow-green cloud. Hopefully nothing dangerous, should be fine. Right?

He keeps following this Marshal. Around another corner. He sees them approaching the lone structure without stacked storeys - where would they go from the high-domed roof; how would spiderwebbed outer columns support them?

The crowd's thinning. The bustle of machinery and unthinkable masses settles into the cheers of a crowd getting a good show.

He doesn't realize Cosmitron's stopped beside him until he puts his cannon-arm over his chest to stop him. Nor does he realize that there's what appears to be a BOUNCER at some kind of decorative tarp marking the entrance. A big, space-black mech with small wingfins running along his arms. Tank treads visible on his legs. Red rings on the forearms, diagonal stripe on the torso. Unsympathetic blue optics. Was this…!?

OPTRONIX

_That's - !_

COSMITRON

_Yes, a registered Autobot. You'll need to keep quick in Aeronexus. We sometimes hire big ones for security, it's fine with High Command._

OPTRONIX

_Since when?_

BOUNCER

(exactly the kind of voice you'd expect)

_Since I came here._

He flashes a glance to Cosmitron, who nods in reply. The Bouncer steps aside, letting them push away the tarps and become fully immersed in the inside scenery.

**INT. AERONEXIAN ARENA - WIDE, LOUD, FESTIVE, VIOLENT**

Rings of seats and tables around a submerged pit. Cheering mechs of all sizes and colors. Sweet-oil kiosks, wager stands and fast-walking collectors, all of it built to serve those seeking a show. A single overhead light throws fiery tints on the -

Combatants!

COSMITRON

(pointing)

_There's your partner, Major._

CLOSE UP: He's right. Wing Saber's being kicked around by a yellow-and-purple mech easily twice his size, swinging a big hook arm. He's slammed against a wall-shield and rolls to the floor.

This can't be right. None of this. Sport fighting, both sides of that concept irritate him. He leans over, taps a standgoer on the shoulder, points with indication to ask what's going on.

STADNGOER

_This guy comes in here asking 'bout some faction-or-so, Impactor here says he'll one-on-one for info. At least, that's what mech brought me here said._

OPTRONIX

_Isn't sport-fighting illegal?_

STANDGOER

_This is Aeronexus, anything can happen._

He looks back to his white-clad guide, who simply shrugs in agreement. Optronix's optics narrow with intent to accuse. But he has bigger problems. That's his partner being thrown about out there.

This "Impactor" sure brings an impact. He hooks Wing Saber under the shoulder plate, throws him spinning along the wall-shielding. Optronix jumps down several rows of chairs, lets out a vox-twisting yell.

OPTRONIX

_STOP THE FIGHT!_

Both combatants pause, look up. He sees an unmistakable grin come across Wing Saber's slightly-smashed-in face.

He climbs over two spectators, down over the guardrail atop the shields. Impactor shoots him a hostile glance.

IMPACTOR

_This is one on one, stranger._

OPTRONIX

_I'll deal with you later, don't worry._

He helps hoist Wing Saber up, whispers to his receptor:

OPTRONIX

_We've gotta get out of here._

WING SABER

_I know. Really had him, he wouldn't shut up there for a while. Listen, I have a plan._

OPTRONIX

_My turn to know. What else'd you mean?_

The Seeker leans heavily against a cracked shield-plate, resting his hands on his legs. Optronix shoots Impactor a hand gesture: one moment, then we'll settle this.

WING SABER

_Ready._

He comes up. A wannabe commentator shouts in the old Squid tongue:

WANNABE COMMENTATOR

_Risulte! Xesoi! Xesoi! Xesoi!_

He doesn't get a chant going, but the fight is about to be underway. Optronix unclips his pistols, throws them back over the wall to gather with Wing Saber's. Cosmitron moves into place alongside the mech the flyer had asked to watch his stuff.

"One-on-one."

Optronix and Wing Saber merge. The Duon's optics blacken for a moment, re-emerge as yellow, slicing through the red-orange lighting overhead. The crowd falls silent, then returns, louder than before.

The Duon lets Impactor make the first move, charging. They do not move until he is within hitting distance, then - !

DISENGAGE.

They seem to part, like he's punching water.

MERGE behind his back, land an elbow against his back before he has time to turn. Two as one, the Duon slide back, ducking and slamming a fist into Impactor's abdomen. He recoils a little from the force of it, recovers more quickly than before, throws his hook and manages to catch a new spot around the Duon's sternum. Pulls them toward him hard that something under there comes loose, lands a blow to the jaw.

DISENGAGE.

TRANSFORM.

Wing Saber flies first, managing to swoop over Impactor's shoulder and catch a hook to the wing. He goes down, but Optronix emerges and knocks out Impactor's knee.

MERGE.

The Duon Combines behind his back again as he goes down, this time leaping over his head. With the bladed end of his hook gripped in one fist. They pull it like a leash, twisting him and landing a blow to the torso around the shoulder joint. Release the hook as he's about to get back up again, throw downward into his skull. He falls. And the crowd wants to call it a quick victory.

Impactor hesitates too long in getting up. No reasonable soldier will let him gain that chance, and he knows it, even before the Duon Gamma plant their foot against his head in victory.

DISENGAGE.

They don't celebrate, don't revel. To one of them, this was a necessary challenge. To the other it's somewhere between an insult and major inconvenience. Wing Saber picks up the sternum-piece that the hook knocked loose. That's going to need major repair.

WING SABER

_How's the arm?_

OPTRONIX

_Fine. You ask the questions._

The Seeker nods, then plants his foot against the now facing-up Impactor's chest. Optronix stands off to the side, letting him know they can knock him right back down.

WING SABER

_So what do you know about Megazarak? Or the Fracuture, hmm?_

IMPACTOR

_Next to nothing._

WING SABER

_"Next to?"_

IMPACTOR

_Only who he is._

Not enough. The optics say it all: "go on."

IMPACTOR

_I've met him through bouts. He's becoming a champion._

WING SABER

_Where?_

The crane mech's wide arms come open in what is likely a shrug. Almost smug if not grave. But there's something else, too...

IMPACTOR

_"First rule of underground fights." Wherever the war's left someone, it's there. But a vox always stays mute._

Now the power comes back to him, even if he's down on the ground. A grin spreads across a metal mouth.

IMPACTOR

(louder)

_All I do is say the name._

(receptor antennae everywhere prick up)

_And it's the truth._

Beat. Every mech in the arena is frozen. Silent. Cosmitron's not necessarily fazed, but he needs a little time to adjust. He looks around, sees he's not the only one surprised. But none of them break the stillness.

Even the world outside is lost for a moment, suspended in nothingness.

Cosmitron looks around, counting the optics. And examining the attitude in them. Something malevolent. Righteous. Unified.

Optronix was right. So far, they're two for two.

Cosmitron thinks he's made the first move when he reaches for the Duon's guns. Wrong. It's the mech at one of the betting stands suddenly Transforming.

The Marshal catches that, throws the pistols to their owners, promptly Transforms himself. He's a long-nosed flyer with thrown-back wings, and his exhaust stirs up loose dirt in the arena as he prepares to make a quick escape.

He never makes it. Another spectator at a table continues the trend, and all at once it's an explosion of total chaos. Yells. No gunfire, but chairs and tables make for good melee weapons. A table, for example, comes smashing down on the Marshal's hull and he's stopped before he can reach speed. His engines go quiet.

The Autobots catch their pistols. Smirking just that much more, he leaps up to his feet as two Aeonexian patrons leap into the ring with them. They don't hold them steady and hope to stop this, they just begin firing. Wing Saber knocks one back as Impactor approaches - or rather, his hook. It catches around his shoulder and he's thrown to the ground.

Cosmitron struggles to his feet, half-Transformed, only finishing the process once he's upright and has already punched someone to the floor. His head emerges between his wings and they fold back behind him. He raises his cannon arm and fires.

BLAMM!

It's somewhere between a focused explosion and a rocket's engines propelling it to space. And it clears a path through a gang three-deep and ready for violence. He Transforms again, and this time there's nothing stopping him from getting out and seeing what's happening to his polity.

We follow him. It's started a chain reaction, or else was simultaneous. Neither matters, because these whatever-they-are have been activated. He flies over them, running air through his vents, cooling his systems enough for another cannon blast. With his jet's eye he sees that things are starting to get crowded. Close-quarters combat across an already packed city.

But there's a mass that catches him. Charging as a whole unit. That's where he fires. It's enough to blow him back, and he spreads folded-back wings. Dives down into the disoriented mass already being overtaken by white-and-blue deputies. Transforms, finishes the rest of the drop on two legs. Smoke funnels through his arm.

One, marked by a splash of red on his torso and grating on his blocky helmet, steps close to his boss. He's a Deputy Seeker.

THUNDERWHIP

_What is this?_

COSMITRON

_Same thing that happened at Plutosis, I think. Shut down all business, get everyone to safespots. No one outside the green zone. Pass it along to your team._

Then he Transforms, and is off to search for other areas. Our perspective stays behind, with Thunderwhip.

THUNDERWHIP

_No one outside the green zone, everything closes. We break off into our trios, make sure everything's in order. Rotate through this sector at random. Loudboxes on._

Everyone in the group gathers, twists their necks to activate their loudboxes. And then their patrol lights. Each trio has their own blinking rhythm.

Five mechs approach, all of them holding clublike weapons. One of them is what appears to be a shock baton.

THUNDERWHIP

_Go._

They don't quite scatter before the quintet make their move. Five's an unholy number to Thunderwhip, and he Transforms, ramming into three of them, Transforming and performing some kind of punch-kick combo as he touches down.

And is slammed down by a swift kick to the back. It doesn't come from one of the thugs being dispatched by the flyers under his command, at least not those that don't look like the flyers under his command.

TRAITOR DEPUTY

_Nothing personal._

THUNDERWHIP

(whispering)

_Says you._

For the moment, it's a tight spot. And an unexpected one. He picks up the shock baton, beats the fallen Deputy once across the back of the neck, then swings it at another - one with the same blinker rhythm to his patrol light. He's not expecting it, raises his arms in defense and is beaten to the ground.

A bulky hauler-mech goes zooming over their heads, thrown by a coworker. The traitor doesn't count on taking a whole heavy frame to the face, and he goes down.

The rest of the flyers know their jobs and simply scatter.

**EXT. OUTSIDE THE ARENA - CONTINUOUS**

The Duon Gamma emerge, limping, from under the dome - which is now starting to show some of the wear they've put on it. Loose pieces flap around on their torso, one leg, parts of both arms, their combined form's helmet.

More just seem to be coming. One by one, loudboxes have begun dictating orders, overlapping one another into one big cacophonous whine.

LOUDBOXES

(variations on the same theme)

_Attention, Aeronexus. This is not a drill. Head to designated safezones, use deadly force to protect yourselves. No one authorized outside the green zone. This is for your protection._

No need to remind any Cybertronian how to protect themselves, even Aeronexians. And once again, as both are thinking now, it's playing out more or less like Plutosis. But now they're a floating city instead of an underground Node level.

A big one comes at them, most likely a heavy hauler. It Transforms, flies at them, but they're airborne too, and slam the carrier to the ground, prompting a Transformation and offlining him for now with a swift kick to the face.

A MISSILE-like object comes zooming, hitting the Duon. Both separate on impact, start running without recombining. Gunfire going out in all directions, rapid enough that plasma-trails start forming blooms around them as they run.

A lot of people just running. Not fighting, just running. Little brawls breaking out, fueled by recognition or simple paranoia. They keep their guns raised as they run alongside one another.

Impactor emerges from behind a canned Energon stand, leaping to the counter and charging, Transforming into some kind of crane truck. It slams into Wing Saber from the side before he has time to notice, taking down maybe three other Aeronexians in the process. Optronix is a bit faster, shooting through the main windshield, leaving the vehicle blind. A crane arm swings out, catching some poor citizen in the optic. He yells out, and Wing Saber gets to his feet, slamming his arms into the servo, lifting and firing twice into the joint. There's a small explosion of gears and cabling inside, and Impactor tries to Transform. He, Wing Saber, Optronix and several others are trampled by incoming - !

A shipping crate mows through the crowd, sending up sparks and screaming metal, more noise and pain than any loudbox.

FOCUS ON: the zone lines. The crate, not caring what it knocks over, pushes Optronix just outside the green zone.

A Deputy flies overhead. Alone. Transforms in midair, hovers by leg thrusters.

The large crate breaks the railing just outside the red zone. As it stands, Optronix stands inside the yellow. Much as he hates heights, he's a bit worried about the Fracture sparking violence in this city. Impactor is sprawled on the green line, raises his head to see Optronix reaching for his pistol - which rests just by the mech's arm. He grins, hurriedly grabs the weapon and tosses it past the yellow, past the red, past the edge of Aeronexus entirely.

Wing Saber rushes ahead, but diverts to take cover behind a wall when the Deputy begins shooting everywhere. Not friendly. He emerges long enough to take a shot, nicking one of the enemy's leg-jets.

Impactor tries to Transform, to throw his hook, do anything, but he's probably sustained more damage than he initially realized.

Optronix crawls forward, realizing for the first time now that there's a slant to the ground. He's climbing. Impactor grins, then starts climbing himself. In the opposite direction. Some idiotic Autobot Seeker he could take down easily. But not this other.

With all his anger he takes his victory. Optronix has no way to go but backwards or sideways, and neither of those is a viable option. Impactor just keeps crawling towards him, leaving a trail of internal fluids and armor scraps in his wake.

IMPACTOR

(crazed)

_I'm coming for you! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!_

Optronix decides sideways is a better way to go. To his left - Impactor's right - he crawls along the subtly-sloping silver surface, hoping to move a bit upward as he does, get back inside the green zone. That, and away from this crazy gladiator. But dying things experience a little burst of energy, and so Impactor moves with the speed of a wild animal, slamming his body into the Major's, angled just so that Optronix is offlined. One of the first places of contact is the head.

Then, using his last reserves of that primal energy, pushes both from the platform of the floating city. From there they will fall through the clouds, be carried away by various wind currents to their final resting places on the ground. Depending on how hard they hit, the number of final landing sites goes up.

But from there, that's a long way down. Long way to go.

SLOW FADE TO:

Black.

The wind howls.

S.O.:

_Iqine..._

* * *

...

* * *

A/N:

'So, this is proving to capture my attention for the time being. Always been a problem, but this is a better alternative than starting a new one. Not only that, but I've gathered a list of songs I think encapsulate what this story is meant to represent, to feel like."

"Reptile" by Nine Inch Nails; "Rabbit" by Nate Wood; "Apollo" by Tony Levin; "Mastermind" by Mick Gordon; "Avatar" by Swans; "Vichnaya Pamyat" by Homin Lviv Municipal Choir; "We're in This Together" by Nine Inch Nails; "Lockdown" by Steve Jablonsky; "The Next Screen" by Jeff Russo and Jordan Gagne; "Better If You Try" by Nate Wood

Bit more later, I suppose, if you personally think they go together. Reviews are always much appreciated, because it's good to know these things.

Toodles.' : )


	5. Liquidation pt IV

**Liquidation, Ch IV - Truthspeaker**

COLD OPEN:

**EXT. AERONEXIAN STREET - CLOUDY - VAGUELY STARLIT**

All Wing Saber can do is hope his partner isn't dead. He's a bit busy running around with a gun in either hand, increasingly worried about who's who.

Over here, a trio interested in collateral damage in a building. Over there, a building's already collapsed, with a few reliving failed escapes under several tonnes of rubble until finally extinguishing themselves.

He sees two Deputies going at it with each other. They look exactly alike. Even some of the same scuffmarks on their arms.

He can't do anything about that. Unless…

Not many civilians left. Any he might find, he hopes, are throwing out intruders, armed with fiber-brooms and home-fashioned blades.

But he's approaching the two doing the fighting. A couple words (speaking a bit of truth, ha!) should get him the desired results.

WING SABER

_Hey! Hey, you two!_

He doesn't get much attention. He fires a warning shot, carefully placed to land between them when they break apart.

WING SABER

_Yeah, that's right. Megazarak sucks Shark nipples!_

The one on the left is confused. The one on the right charges at him. The one on the right is probably Fracture.

MEGAZARAK DOES NOT SUCK SHARK NIPPLES

_I'm going to kill you for that._

Rage blinds. So much that, even with 180-degree forward vision, a vengeful Cybertronian can fail to see his previous enemy is far from subdued yet. Not only that, but Wing Saber has the only plasma pistols in Aeronexus. No arm cannon, but it's firepower. And a Fracture exploding from two directions is quite a sight.

A 'bot needs to know who's who. This is just another example.

Part of him feels like he still needs to be paranoid. He's once heard someone say "anything can happen in Aeronexus". He doesn't doubt it.

WING SABER

_Any idea what these… Fractures are doing?_

He restates what the white-gold-red flyer is already thinking:

AERONEXIAN DEPUTY / MEGAZARAK DOES SUCK SHARK NIPPLES

_Stir up chaos, take the place by storm, seize control in the chaos. Not sure how this could be planned, but it's one of the quickest descents I've ever seen. I mean, I served under the Trion, I've seen some -_

WING SABER

_That's enough. Is there any place civilians go for cover?_

AERONEXIAN DEPUTY

_We have a constabulary for those without a safe place of their own…_

Slow understanding. Any group with access to a lot of people, allied or not, was bad. Is bad.

WING SABER

_Yeah. Gather whoever you can, but do lead the way. Come up with a codeword. _(grinning boldly) _Something no Fracture would ever say._

The Deputy nods, Transforms, goes to find the nearest other Deputy. Maybe he didn't get the Autobot's message, maybe he's only leaving for a moment, but this is time that'd better be put to good use.

Wing Saber is acting as a Deputy Marshal, too, whether he's wearing the colors or not. He has to find civilians to help, too. That's what the Autobot military is for, after all.

He finds that scary Autobot bouncer from the arena pinned at the torso under the carcass of an even bigger mech. With a little running momentum, Wing Saber manages to get the bouncer's attention and land with full force against the body. The trapped 'bot helps the Autobot Seeker roll the body off himself. Wing Saber gets to his feet, helps the bouncer up.

WING SABER

_I need your help._

BOUNCER

_With?_

WING SABER

_Keeping this city alive, killing the bad guys, surviving._

BOUNCER

_Seems to be everyone's priority._

WING SABER

_Where's the constabulary?_

BOUNCER

_I can lead you there. Not much for verbal directions._

Wing Saber nods - that's the gesture for the bouncer to lead the way. With any luck, brute force and speed will complement each other.

Crossing the street is a little tricky. Wing Saber's guns are back out, the bouncer's limping, hobbling. The violence is clearing up now, with a few strays. One of them charges Wing Saber, who Transforms before contact can be made. He doesn't seem to notice, colliding with a window of what they'll see soon as an apartment building.

With a very angry resident, who steps outside with a docking cable wrapped around one arm.

ANGRY RESIDENT

_Get off the 'nexus, slagger!_

The slightly-disoriented Fracture is whacked in the dome with a heavy hook, wrapped up in thick wire and brought down. Almost excitedly, the resident empties through the apartment's door to let more through.

ANGRY RESIDENT

_Hey, we got one!_

More are hurriedly gathering, lifting the trussed-up Fracture to an unpleasant destiny inside their group residence. Wing Saber, not quite the same outspoken stubborn mech his partner is (or was), simply leaves them to their beating. A few whoops, metal being bent almost to breaking before the door even shuts again.

SLOW SLIDE TO:

**EXT. OPEN AIR - BELOW AERONEXUS - DARK, CLOUDY, SCATTERED STORMS BELOW**

Open in darkness.

POV: Optics. Slowly opening. Wind howling, whipping the world around us. Some static in the atmosphere condensing into YELLOW LIGHTNING below - or is it above - sideways - right in front!

Optronix is slowly coming back online. Lucidity better come quick, and it does.

ZOOM OUT: he's moving through the white-grey fog, a multicolored fireball due somewhat zoom for impact.

Hopelessness only overtakes him long enough for him to remember something. He can Transform! But into what?

A hovertank. Scratch that. A high-power jet. He doesn't like heights, but he rescanned for a reason. Could've been bad if he didn't regain consciousness.

Armor plates fold on themselves across his body, pauldrons morph almost inside-out to become pylons, legs fuse together and slide across his back as arms recede into his torso. His head shrinks into the mesh, where it is disassembled like any well-made machine into another form.

The jet's engines kick in, and a roughly ¥-shaped vehicle arrests its fall with what the Robot Mode would call "a massive tug against gravity". The Alt. Mode feels things differently.

Flying up isn't quite as fast as falling down, but he begins his return trip to Aeronexus.

FAST SLIDE DOWN TO:

**EXT. PLUTOSIAN STREETS - OVERCYCLE**

Kilotron is out of the picture, but now out of our view. Rebuilding has been slow, but he hasn't seen anyone come to stew up old memories.

Ratch is there with him. A black stripe wrapping around his arm shows he's been officially deputized. The empurata walks alongside his Marshal, just going through empty streets. A lot more was destroyed in that battle than anyone'd thought at first, and now it shows. All along Main Street buildings have been reduced to blackened half-walls and somehow-upright doors without frames or hinges. Mid-grade construction lamps hang from the one or two intact lightposts, dangle on cables from scaffolding, or from the underbellies of airborne Alt. Modes. Everything takes on a new shape, a new texture, under new lighting; even more eviscerated, with a greater absence of life.

They intend to do the labor demanded, but first and foremost order needs to be maintained. That's when, up ahead, they see two citizens starting what seems to be a quarrel. Pushing, raising voxes, fists clenched.

KILOTRON

_Hey! What is this?_

PLUTOSIAN

_This was my storage unit he's trying to expand his little outhouse into._

The other Plutosian, a red-orange thing, takes offense to his sanitation complex being called an outhouse. And shows it by jumping onto the other mech, heavy-lifting arm servos not getting a chance to hit before the Marshal jumps in, slamming both to the ground. Ratch, only watching, pulls a shock prod prosthetic from his toolbelt.

KILOTRON

_That's enough! Now, Wreck Gar, we've had this discussion._

WRECK GAR

(damaged voxbox)

_Ain't had no talk like this, sir._

KILOTRON

(coldly)

_And we won't have one like it again._

His cannon arm is starting to hum.

RATCH

_Marshal?_

He only keeps his optics on Wreck-Gar. He's the instigator, no question about it. And a Marshal can't maintain order when repeat instigators go unpunished. If an example needs be made - !

The garbage mech shrinks back in fear. The Plutosian with the storage unit thinks somehow a mistake's been made, all things considered.

RATCH

_Marshal!_

The cannon arm powers down. He breaks his gaze.

KILOTRON

(quietly)

_Don't violate boundaries in rebuilding. This isn't the time._

Then he turns around, and begins walking off. With his blue orb of a face, Ratch keeps his commander in full view the whole time. Could've been worse, but maybe it's eased some of the unnrest in him. Or maybe that train of thought is heavily misguided, and he needs to make sure Kilotron's okay. He runs after him.

RATCH

_What was that?_

No reply. Main Street ends here. Up ahead, down a stretch of empty rock trail, is the arena. Neither of them - nor any left in Plutosis, for that matter - have any idea where it came from or when it got here, although the obvious guess is a simple shrug followed by "the Fracture, probably". And that's a pretty bad sign when that's all local law can determine.

He's gotten no answers, and every opportunity leads to another dead end. Pretty soon he's going to reach out to Optronix, reprimanded by his High Command as he might be for it. For now, the ruins are a place to be a place of contemplation for him. He stops at an outside wall, and Ratch stops with him. The medic hasn't seen it this close, and definitely not since the last battle.

He simply observes as the Marshal reaches out to touch the wall with his right arm - his cannon arm. Ratch doesn't understand, but he gets the gist. Shell-shock and bad memories are in everyone's past, that's part of what it means to be alive, much less a Cybertronian. And for all their ability to undergo physical change, changing the mind is hard. Now there's some new element the deputy can only guess at. He can already tell he doesn't like being able to only guess.

RATCH

_Marshal? _(beat)_ Kilotron?_

He finally acknowledges his deputy is still there.

KILOTRON

_The war's over. At least, as we know it. Is this really what comes next?_

RATCH

_Of course. Something has to, good or bad. And we meet it in full force. Whatever comes next. Squids taught us that, I s'pose._

KILOTRON

(sighing)

_I suppose so, too._

(turns away, tired, knowing what his duties are)

_Right. Whatever comes next._

Those words are, ironically, a truth to him. Anxiously, he briefly considers if that's what the Fracture - it was Fracture, yes? - intended for him to recognize, when he saw it.

But he's still Marshal. That's his job now, and he's going to do the Cybertronian thing. Stick with it, adapt and conquer. That's his truth.

Whatever comes next.

RETURN TO:

**EXT. AERONEXUS - VAGUELY STARLIT**

Wing Saber, the bouncer, and a deputy Seeker run through still-emptying streets. A few other deputies pass overhead. Most of these look pretty similar - likely from the same or sister units.

And here and there, a couple that can't possibly be anything other than Fracture. They don't seem to grasp that they still haven't won yet. Of course, the trickery doesn't hurt, either.

Wing Saber plays a good prisoner. And the bouncer plays a good jailer.

BOUNCER

_Yeah, get a move on, you!_

What this tells them is that no Fracture knows every other agent on Aeronexus. Of course, in the days of the Revolution, soldiers could go without knowing more than eight or nine of their cohort, especially when spread apart. And that hasn't changed, it seems. And an Autobot insider? Even better.

The deputy - Thunderwhip - tags along behind, like an escort to the escort. Still, the Autobot Seeker's had to give up his guns, and that doesn't do any good toward putting him at ease.

Two more blocks. Up ahead, an Aeronexian is clearly tagged as an outsider, thrown to the ground by a pair of Fractures. A cry for help, of pain, of fear. That doesn't help in the slightest.

AERONEXIAN

_Please! I-I didn't do anything!_

FRACTURE THUG #1

_We're not here to hurt you. Just to save you. And that means…_

The mask of compassion drops as wing-claws unsheath, coming down in rapid swiping motions.

That's it!

BOUNCER

_Hey!_

Wing Saber rushes forward, Transforming before the bouncer can pull him back. And the Fracture doesn't see him either, because he's surprised when he takes an Autobot to the face. His partner, too, because he's thrown back against an upturned chunk of pavement.

That's it for their cover, unless they actually try throwing themselves fully into it and subduing him. But Thunderwhip, in the heat of the moment, decides against it. The bouncer, however, does not. It takes the deputy a little too long to figure it out. The big Autobot fires his prisoner's pistols. Neither shot lands, but they're close. Bad aim.

He pulls up over the little street-brawl. The bouncer launches himself fully into it, still firing. One of those shots manages to graze Wing Saber, and the second Fracture as he's trying to get up.

FRACTURE THUG #2

_What the - !_

Wing Saber drops. The Aeronexian hasn't made it three paces away when the bouncer shoots her. Twice. She drops. It's been a while since he's held an honest-to-Sigma gun!

FRACTURE THUG #1

_Barricade, what the slag was that!?_

BOUNCER / BARRICADE

_Prisoner. Didn't realize he was - ..._

Thunderwhip charges, firing his own arm-cannon. Barricade turns and fires, but his aim's bad enough without a fast-moving target. He dodges and keeps firing. On the ground, the other thug plants two heavy kicks to Wing Saber.

POV: Wing Saber's place curled up against the pavement. It's a tangle of several sets of legs, but he sees the hobble. The bouncer! Overhead, the second thug bends back over.

FRACTURE THUG #2

_What're you looking at, huh, winged trash?_

And a punch to the torso.

His vox is intact.

WING SABER

_Legs!_

Another blow, but this time he's got his wits back to him. He blocks, Transforms, takes the thug with him as he flies a short distance out and up, drops his passenger, Transforms on top of him. Barricade turns, but something else requests his attention - something with a big blast yield.

Cosmitron drops with incredible speed, firing twice into the two thugs. Now they're almost evenly matched, and in a different direction.

Wing Saber offlines his accompanying thug with a stomp to the face, then Transforms again and charges back into the thugs with the Marshal and his deputy. Looks like they didn't get the message.

But Thunderwhip does, just a little too late. He raises his arm again and fires, then sees how quickly Wing Saber is charging for the newfound traitor.

The Autobot still comes up short, but manages to get Barricade's attention. The blast connects with his weakened leg. Splinters fly everywhere.

Wing Saber Transforms a little over a metron from where Barricade collapses, and retrieves his guns. He doesn't get the time to put the traitor down. The last thug, crazed, charges him with heavy claws, half-Transforming into something with rotors before being shot down from multiple angles.

WING SABER

_Thanks. What about this one?_

COSMITRON

_Later. I don't know where he can go._

BARRICADE

(garbled, wheezing)

_Nothing… goes to waste…_

Thunderwhip squats, punches him. Offline it is! Wing Saber holsters his pistols and clips them down.

THUNDERWHIP

_And that?_

COSMITRON

_Fine. Just around the corner._

And they go. All three Transform, zipping off.

TRAVEL TO:

**EXT. PLUTOSIAN DOCKS - CLOUDY**

Optronix arrives. Glumly Transforming back to Robot Mode before hitting solid ground, he voices a sigh of relief. He just doesn't like flying. Or the air. He doesn't even have his guns, but all this will have to do. He begins running. Already misses being a hovertank, even if a hovertank would've hit ground.

For now, he'll follow the noise. And it's pretty loud towards the center of this floating junkball.

**EXT. AERONEXIAN CONSTABULARY - CONTINUOUS**

The Constabulary is not so much a building as a whole complex of interlocked complexes. And it's lit up with dozens - nay, quite possibly hundreds - of things exploding, being fired, being fired upon. Looks like the Major's found the right place. He keeps running. As he does, with what little thinking he grants himself, he wonders if this wasn't a disaster for them, too. Of course, no mission goes perfectly; it's just not possible. That tells him all he needs to know for now.

He's almost entranced. A Fracture - thin one with oversized wing kibble - approaches him, slightly confused. Optronix knocks him down in passing, very little to it. So much for the ready-for-anything attitude he'd seen a bit of from everyone here.

He keeps going. Two sentries by the door. Fist-sized chunks of rubble in the street. He stops, picks a couple up and hopes he hasn't been seen already. Takes cover behind a trash receptacle (Dumpster).

He throws, far as he can. Hears each chunk fall.

FRACTURE SENTRY

_Let's go check it out._

Both leave. And he makes his move.

**INT. AERONEXIAN CONSTABULARY - MAYHEM**

Inside, Optronix can see he's late for the party. Bodies are thrown, dragged facedown against walls as Deputy fights Deputy. The civilians are here, too. Filthy, damaged mechs he believes are effectively homeless. And they seem to be in on this cluster-bomb of a scuffle, too.

Five really aggressive lookalikes: probable forge-siblings. Slight physical differences, from height and build to head shape, but the uniformity is there, and

He spots the white-gold-blue-red armor of his partner, staying close to the Marshal, Kilotron. A couple Deputies, too, all wielding cannons. He doesn't see a single combatant that's not scuffed-up and heavily smashed-in with battle damage.

Three from the crowd - none from the five he spotted - charge him. He utters a vox-warbling yell and begins landing blows. Taking hits.

But now the two partners are close enough to see each other. From within their cluster, Wing Saber sees something that looks suspiciously like…!

WING SABER

_I gotta get my partner._

COSMITRON

_Be quick about it._

(nodding, giving him the signal)

_Go._

With that, he breaks formation, running out. Their cluster seals the gap left by his absence. Arms move almost omnidirectionally, as if not fully tethered to any part of his body or mind, but living things all on their own.

Optronix sees him running forward, doesn't have time to make a response before taking a thruster-powered fist to the bad arm. Wing Saber shoots him, then tosses one pistol to his partner.

From there, they bridge the gap. Wing Saber Transforms, loops over an opponent's head and makes the physical connection to Optronix.

The Duon, larger than most of the Fracture and just as fast, start mowing them down with fists and throws. Cosmitron sees it and starts coordinating his Deputies.

COSMITRON

_We're moving. Stay close to the Duon._

They start moving as a group in that direction, firing outward and rotating.

That's also when the five forge-brothers merge, too. Each leaps into a singular green-yellow mesh. Limbs pop out. Arms. Legs. Joints. Smaller joints extending into fingers, twisting into feet, knees, shoulders, elbows, wrists. Neck. Head. It has no face, only an array of red compound optics, winking in and out of disjointed patterns. It's spiky, too. One arm looks swollen compared to the other.

It's a miracle they haven't seen one of these already. And not only is it a miracle, it's a job to do.

Let the battle begin!

Black.

FLASH: Combiner punches Combiner. A CRASHK as contact is made.

FLASH: Both bodies dropping.

SCREAMS.

FLASH: Dozens of battle-mangled Fractures piling on the Duon, screaming, heads rocking, optics wide.

Grinding, squealing noises. It's not a battle, it's a factional ceremony, almost group sacrifice.

FLASH IN, SLOW MOTION: The Aeronexian Marshal and his Deputies fire a synchronized blast into the masses. And it all goes up.

While it does, another takes place, too. Not the battle for liberation of a flying city, but for something else entirely.

Battle drums. Ancient Quintesson chants.

Two dins become one.

REOPEN ON:

**EXT. THE FORGE - MAIN COLISEUM - HEAVY LIGHT**

Megazarak's back in the arena. With a few new bits of armor bearing his colors as trophies, saturated like stage makeup under the lights. Silver, red and purple sparkle, rendering him almost a GOD in the eyes of his spectators.

Almost.

He remains masked. Helm pincers have been shortened considerably, his side cannon rests dangling on his back like a high-payload tail. He holds a knife in one hand and a shield in the other. He'll need a few external weapons for the next fight, he can feel it. It's within his right as a gladiator. More than could be said about his first few times in this place. To him, it's somehow hilarious yet horribly sick, willfully returning to this place. That's a Cybertronian trait, he figures as the crowds scream his name. Living forever in a moment, always changing on the outside but never within.

The announcer rings through the whole complex.

SINGING VOX

_And now, our reigning Champion, MEGAZARAK…_

(a small Node's worth of vox-warbles)

_...Versus…_

(lets this simmer, too)

_...Our leader, the 'bot behind it all, MASTER OF THE FOOOOOOOOOOORGE!_

His display pedestal lowers itself to ground level.

SLOW PAN ACROSS:

Bodies are strewn across the ground, maybe dozens. Two dangle in pieces from the chains in the ceiling. Among them are a few Sharks and Pteros, even some beasts of the Cybertronian surface, seemingly mutated into… something else. Bloated, adorned in mockingly regal spikes, teeth gorged in their broken-open jaws. And what armor pieces and slagged opponents don't cover, various bodily fluids do. One could probably catalogue every Transformer's systems and various body parts from what's scattered across the corroded metal and exposed rock.

On the other side of the arena, the twin doors open wide. This time, no horde of Sharks waits on the other side.

Just a slightly-oversized black silhouette against a wall of red fire. With laser-green optics. They seem to scan from across the massacre site.

He steps forth, revealing silver armor. An arm cannon to rival any Marshal's crowd control weapon. Thick cylindrical helmet that surely has to mean an undersized dome underneath, though given his large size it'd likely be a perfectly normal, if menacing head. Streamlined design, with obtuse slopes on every angle. Cross-shaped feet, leaving industrial-grade pressmarks as footprints as he steps forward. No marks of battle on him, almost hot off the molds, yet carrying himself in a way suggesting age. Oh, the age...

Megazarak can't see any kibble on him, either. No mask. He might not even be a Transformer. But something tells him this mech is hardly Cybertronian.

This Master of the Forge disturbs him. Still, the only weapon he can see on him is that arm cannon, and that must have never been used.

THE MASTER OF THE FORGE

(cold, even, narratively)

_This time, we battle for something…_

_...Greater._

His vox echoes through the whole arena. The same voice he's heard so many times before, commenting alongside the announcer. And this is the face and frame to go with it.

THE MASTER

_Whoever wins… controls the Forge. The games. All else with it._

Big odds. But he's taken down shiny new prototypes before, once within two blows. That had been the incident that earned him his side cannon.

THE MASTER

_Do you agree to these terms?_

MEGAZARAK

_I do!_

Cheers, innumerable, far more than he'd ever heard before.

The drums start up again. He's been in here long enough to earn his own cadence. But alongside his own, he hears a new rhythm. Uneven, looping but somehow never fully predictable. And when they play together, it's a song he's never heard before.

The audience start with their warmup chants. He doesn't like this part.

SPECTATORS

_MAROQO, MAROQO, MAROQO, QARAQI OLOQO! MAROQO, MAROQO, MAROQO, QARAI OLOQO!_

Then, their favorite refrain:

_XESOI! XESOI! XESOI! XESOI! XESOI! XESOI! XESOI! XESOI! XESOI! XESOI!_

_SHI'IQA XESOI DEUN MEGAZARAQA! SHI'IQA XESOI DEUN MEGAZARAQA!_

_ME'EGATORNO! ME'EGATORNO!_

In conclusion:

_SHI'IQA XESOI DEUN MEGAZARAQA VE ME'EGATORNO!_

SINGING VOX

_Begin!_

The music fades into the background to Megazarak's ears. He has a job, he's been doing it, and he finishes it tonight. Right now.

They approach each other. Megazarak grips his chosen weapons tightly. Use the shield as a blunt weapon, push the Master back, control his movements, disorient with cannon, get in close in this window and use the knife. Repeat as needed, Transform to outmaneuver him, use the cannon to keep him on his dome. Stay out of the way of his enemy's only weapon, use his size to his disadvantage. He raises his shield, rotates his cannon under his right arm, holds his knife backwards away from his shield grip.

He keeps an even pace as he approaches his enemy. He will unleash all his hatred for what he's had to do, all so no one else will ever have to do these things again. Masters of the Forge would not gather underground masses to relive the bloodshed that dominated them for sport. But all that meant was a crushing victory, the denial of choice until these things became atrocities of history. A worker made example of is not a worker lost, it's thousands more gained. He'll make an example of this Master.

Yet the Master is not afraid. Yet.

They come within three metrons of one another. The Master just stands there, arms at his side, only his feet making movement. This will not stop Megazarak.

_(XESOI! XESOI! XESOI! XESOI!)_

His shield touches the Master's chest. But before it does, the gladiator sees the outline of… an insignia? Almost like the Autobot's badge. Good. He hates the illusion of freedom under the Autobots just as much as he did the Squids. As he does the Master wearing the badge.

But the moment of contact is a turning point.

The Master's arms come up, seem to flip shield and wielder over his head. Megazarak lands sharply against a freshly-dispatched carcass from earlier that same cycle. Before he has time to get up, the Master plants a vicious kick, he can't tell where, but enough to send him flying. He loses his grip on his shield and it goes flying. Knife, too.

The Master continues to approach, never breaking his walking stride, letting Megazarak get to his feet and point his cannon. He takes several steps backwards and sideways, stepping on a corpse and nearly tripping. But he goes with it, falls with grace and Transforms as he hits the ground. Angles his cannon turret to the Master.

Fires.

The Master doesn't seem to take any blast, and when the haze clears the spotlights adjust their positioning several metrons to the right. Cheers from the crowd, who momentarily cease chanting.

Megazarak Transforms, leaps for his shield and finds it. But can't bring it up before the Master fires his own arm-cannon. The blast is enough to blow Creation to blindness for several measures.

When it clears, so has half the arena. No mess, no floor, just… nothing but torn-up rock.

Megazarak struggles to get to his feet. Hard to do when your legs have been blown off. He simply gawks, bewildered and devastated at them.

The Master approaches. As he does, Megazarak tries in vain to burrow himself in whatever remains of those he's killed. He can't, now crawling as he is, with that much left.

The Master kneels beside his opponent. His cannon is still smoking.

THE MASTER

(lowly; only Megazarak can hear him)

_It's a shame. But there can be no challengers. No dissidents. Only obedience._

MEGAZARAK

(broken vox)

_You're… you're everything I… hate._

THE MASTER

_Yes, I am. And you've been bested. That's what this place is for. What __**I'm**__ for._

With that, he hoists the loser up with one arm.

SPECTATORS

_VIQTORIO DEUN ME'EGATORN!_

THE MASTER

(over loudbox)

_BRING DOWN THE CHAIN!_

(now to Megazarak)

_And now you've done my work. All you had, it failed._

STILL: The Duon Gamma landing a long blow to the five-man Combiner.

THE MASTER (V.O)

_You didn't think big enough. Or far enough. But now you've done my work. All you've had that is here, it's mine. I'll use them well, just for you. They'll carry your memory when they fight for me. The ones that don't… well, you'll see them, wherever you're going._

One clean length of chain reaches the Master's arm. He grabs it, then pulls Megazarak over his shoulder. He begins moaning, protesting in pain. "No, no, no, no." The Master revels in this feeling, and always has, even before this pathetic self-titled revolutionary was forged.

He wraps the chain around one of Megazarak's arms, and it holds. He waves for the signal to start lifting the chain, carrying his challenger's maimed body up towards the ceiling, where he will hang as a reminder. An example.

A worker made example of is not a worker lost, but a thousand gained.

We follow him as he goes up. He's been unmasked, the scars on his face seeming to grow even deeper, as if the machines underneath are rotting away. His red optics go wide as he reaches the ceiling, sees the dozen or so other bodies hanging there in smaller and more jagged pieces than he. (Among them is one resembling Impactor.) He will not die, not yet, but he will lose for all eternity. After a while, he won't even remember what he's lost.

The Master holds up Megazarak's mask in one fist for all to see.

He crushes it.

THE MASTER

(loudbox)

_A deal is done. Fracture, I will honor your leader's vision for the future. Together we shall shatter the glass veil held over the eyes of a world for so long! We will rise up to challenge the deceitful words written in Cybertron's past, present and future! We will SPEAK TRUTH!_

His optics glow green. His cadence starts up again, this time adding a wailing string-line to the beat. And the spectators chant a new refrain.

SPECTATORS

_DESEPTIKOS! DESEPTIKOS! DESEPTIKOS! DESEPTIKOS!_

They have a long way to go yet, but already the chaos is starting. And it is being guided.

In Plutosis, a Marshal has lost some of his edge in remembrance of old things only he knows.

In Autobot High Command, doubt and mystery give birth to paranoia.

On Aeronexus, a Duon rounds up the last of the undesired Fracture with a small army of Deputies.

And in a dozen or so other polities, agents wait. Not all Fracture, not all the Master's, but they're there.

S.O.:

𝝮

This is a symbol of finality in at least one variation of Cybertronic script, without numerical or phonetic meaning but present all the same.

This story is over. And more will follow.

FADE TO: Black. End episode.


	6. Quantara pt I

**Quantara,**** Ch I** \- **Truthspeaker**

Black.

S.O. (text, typing)

_Autobot Dispatch to Duon Gamma Major. Megazarak-Fracture case closed. Repeat: Megazarak-Fracture case closed. New assignment: assist liaison Roadrage in meeting splinter faction Quantara, you're under her command now._

Paragraph break.

_As a side note from the Sergeant: keep your hands to yourself, Wing Saber..._

SLOW OPEN IN:

**INT. MACCADAM'S OLD OIL HOUSE - WELL-LIT**

This is a fairly busy establishment, an oddity considering its totally isolated location. As such, its affiliations lie with no one faction, and as such true diplomacy can be carried out over strong Energon drinks. Two long bars, one on either side of the room; booths and circular tables stretch between them, half-occupied by 'bots of every make and color. Today is a slower day, but the customers have never stopped since before the last Squids jumped planet.

Wing Saber and Optronix have opted for a booth, the negotiator Roadrage having pulled up a stool from the bar and sat beside the table. She's a crimson Autobot, calm, not prone to hyperactive shaking. The aura of calm and total control is unsettling to the fast-minded soldiers, who fidget almost in sync against the hard surface. Optronix has brought some sort of protective cloak inside with him, wadded it up and thrown it over the wall for close safekeeping.

WING SABER

_When are these faction guys arriving again?_

OPTRONIX

(Dryly)

_Yes._

The Seeker chuckles. His partner having a sense of humor, who would've guessed. Still, he grows ever more impatient.

The diplomat offers her input.

ROADRAGE

_They're due soon. Hey, in fact, they might be coming through that door now._

WING SABER

(Sensing sarcasm)

_Really, huh?_

He's proven wrong as the bell on the heavy batwing doors dings hyperactively. From outside the inhospitable air spills in, and riding the wind currents, TWO BLOCKY NEW ARRIVALS. The Quantara representatives, bearing some similarities in build and color: Spark-siblings. One is blue, with a faceplate and red eyeband; the other is purple, exposed face and two yellow optics.

Wing Saber "breathes" a sigh of relief through his vox, instinctively gets up and begins approaching when Optronix's hand stops him.

OPTRONIX

_Roadrage's job, not yours. We assist, we don't lead._

WING SABER

(Mildly)

_Right. Then..._

He sits. Roadrage is already out to greet them, repeating the Seeker's gesture. The blue one simply stares. The face betrays no emotion, yet the mute silence speaks volumes in the somewhat-busy bar.

ROADRAGE

_Greetings, Quantara representatives. I am Roadrage..._

(Gestures to the Duon)

_These are my Autobot escorts: Autobot Duon Gamma. Majors, both of them._

The blue one still does not speak. His purple partner, however, looks uncomfortable, almost apologetic.

PURPLE QUANTARA

_Oh, my apologies, he doesn't speak. But, yes, we will sit, if that's what you mean._

Confusion on the Autobot side. Roadrage agrees, pulling up her stool and taking her place at the head of the booth. The blue Quantara enters first, sits across from Optronix. The purple one is across from Wing Saber, who glances nervously, but has already resumed drumming against the table. The lamp hanging overhead on several spliced lengths of cable looks good enough to set swinging, but he decides against touching it.

ROADRAGE

(Tentatively, exposing a lack of real diplomatic experience)

_So, err... Shall you introduce yourselves, explain some things you would like to see while living under an Autobot banner?_

PURPLE QUANTARA

_Gladly. You can call me SEISMUS. And..._

(Gestures to his brother)

_...this is my incredibly verbose Spark-twin. He responds to "SINE"._

(Cont.)

_And, as for that next question... the short answer is, there's no way you can comprehend the answer without seeing the way our community works, firsthand._

The Duon simply observe, sharing a look between them akin to "this could easily turn out a waste of time, and we need to get back on the captive's last word." Wing Saber watches the hanging lamp again, while Optronix looks over the booth's wall to the open floor on the other side. In clear Cybertronix, written in inflected glyphs across the floor, is Maccadam's iconic and subversive message:

"NO WEAPONS ON THE PREMISES. NO EXCEPTIONS."

Obeying this rule, they have disarmed, left the weapons in a storage unit a safe distance away.

IMAGINED IMAGE: Wing Saber sees a generic 'bot charge through the batwings holding his pistols, where he is immediately tackled by an unassuming bartender half his size. It makes him grin, and reminds him how bored he is. How he longs for combat, disgusting as the thought tastes to him. But he knows this kind of thing isn't for him, that's another certainty for him.

And as for his partner... he tries to know what the older soldier is thinking. It's not easy, never has been. He's sure there's pain, pain kept hidden by throwing himself into this role as soldier. He'd seen the way the former squad leader threw himself at the enemy, recognized the blindly suicidal haze. Even felt that way himself before. But whatever his partner is thinking now, he cannot imagine.

Roadrage tries to continue.

ROADRAGE

_So... do you drink? Or your brother? I've heard the oil shots here can make your domes spin._

SEISMUS

(Chuckling, subtly defensive)

_Oh, no, neither of us drink. We'll gladly allow you, though._

Now Wing Saber takes interest again, interjecting. Playing his vox fast and loose, at that.

WING SABER

_I drink. So does Optronix - you do drink, right, ya big slagger?_

Seismus - and Sine - recoil at the casual expletive. The Seeker's eyes turn back to them, realizing he's made an irreversible mistake.

Moment of silence. Across the establishment, someone bangs their arms against the bar. This in turn prompts a scream of pain as the nearest bartender grips one arm, twisting until the mech's shoulder servo whines and his loudbox lets loose.

OPTRONIX

_Yeah, I drink. Call a waiter over, if so._

SEISMUS

_I'd be glad to do so, Autobots._

(He raises his hand, enunciates clearly)

_Waiter, please! We're ready to order._

When the Quantara faces them again, the air of resistance has vanished. Simple nervousness, or something more malicious than that? No telling.

WING SABER

(Trying to sound formal)

_Well, please excuse the profanities, it was just - _

SEISMUS

_It was just nothing. You think that's profane? You haven't heard the way our people talk, same way we don't know that much of the world outside our Node. Can't afford to, risk of gathering intel and compromising secrecy's been too great._

WING SABER

_That sounds paradoxical._

SEISMUS

_Everything is if you - _

Their WAITER arrives: a thin mech with no discernable Alt. Mode and an over-articulate face. His entire torso is covered in Cybertronic glyphs even the literature snob Sine cannot recognize, though try he does to read every one of them.

WAITER

_What'll it be, 'bots? We have a special, if y'all want to hear about it._

The Duon are about to dictate their preferred beverages when Roadrage does what she's supposed to do best: take control of multi-party interactions. They're cut off, almost rudely, with authority.

ROADRAGE

_We'll take three Energon Jugs, standard, diluted is fine, put it on the Autobot tab._

WAITER

_Gladly. Er, will that be all?_

The Duon share another look as Roadrage shakes her head, and the waiter mech quickly leaves. The five return to business.

SEISMUS

_Y'know, good thing you brought them, Diplomat._

ROADRAGE

_Why's that?_

SEISMUS

(Humorously)

_Brings our number up to five. That's a lucky number. And I sense good things in our futures as collaborators._

The beginnings of progress! This is turning out better than the Autobots could've hoped for, and they're all, more or less, glad for it. Soldiers do not forget battle easily, but this might be a nice change of pace.

MONTAGE - SILENT: The waiter returns, Energon is distributed. Sine observes silently and Seismus leans inward, curiously, as the three utter a litany and knock back their first shots. Optronix and Sine engage in a gaze-measuring contest. Roadrage, still collected but a little loose in the processor, referees a servo-wrestle between Wing Saber and Seismus, before the waiter sees and approaches with a deadly speed, intent to tackle. Roadrage turns and protests before anyone can get hurt, the rest of the bar shares a grim chuckle.

They wrap it up and walk out, the short-term anesthetic effect of diluted Energon giving way to tightly-wound but steady Autobots. This is a Transformer hangover, as life-giving fluid is filtered into base components and the added toxins converted with a bit of work into extra fuel.

All five unlock their weapons from the storage units, hastily inspect them for any damage done, feeling the unforgiving wind of the Cybertronian surface whip, slap and stab at their mesh skins. They grab some other stuff, too: stuff Optronix had taken inside with him out of habit:

Hurriedly, they throw tarpcloaks over their frames, whipping about and doing only so much against the air not meant for touching.

A dust cloud approaches: an ugly green-brown thing, hungry and evil.

SEISMUS

(Shouting over the wind, fighting for balance)

_Oh, don't worry! You have your secret pathways, we have ours! This way!_

He throws his arm in that direction, starts walking - slowly, deliberately, to keep his balance.

With some almost invisible hand gesture he summons a pillar from the ground, punches in a command sequence. Cybertronic glyphs shine in bright red through the dust, plus some the soldiers cannot identify.

A ramplike trapdoor emerges, beckoning them group in. Sine enters first, followed by Roadrage, Wing Saber, Optronix, concluding with Seismus sealing the door. They're locked away from the wind, and still it howls above them.

But now their environment is changed.

**INT. SECRET QUANTARA CATACOMBS - DIM**

The light here is scarce, grungy, scattered to corners hardly hinting at the place's true size. Below, wide steps lead to something below - something even more expansive, father from the known and closer to their destination. So much can happen down here. Animal remains native to the surface have likely claimed every little nook.

The Autobots switch on their lights, creating a white spherical aura around their collective form. The two representatives recoil at the sudden burst of light, but do not activate their own.

WING SABER

_No lights?_

SEISMUS

_No need. Venture through these areas long enough, your optics remember. Servos remember just as much._

That's all they say before Sine gestures down the steps. The swarm of white guidelights follows, elaborating:

It's a tunnel, wide enough for ten trucks and tall enough for twenty aircraft. And the silent Spark-brother starts them off with a leap, taking several steps down and leaping into a Transformation. A blue hovercar, very rectangular, likely very fast.

Wing Saber sees the feat, decides to one-up the representative's stunt, consequences be slagged. He leaps up and Transforms, racing after the vehicle.

ROADRAGE

_Isn't that dangerous and a little irresponsible?_

OPTRONIX

_He does what he wants, but I've never seen him go against Autobot disciplines. Decided you're safe._

(Beat)

_Why aren't you following them?_

ROADRAGE

_I'd rather not. Representative Seismus: how close are we?_

SEISMUS

(Shrugging)

_Walking distance, plus maybe a cycle. Nothing exhausting._

ROADRAGE

_Good. Let's walk, and let them wait on us for cutting ahead._

Engines reverberate up and down the wide tunnel, but the trio take their time, slipping into that old Cybertronian tradition of silence.

The tunnel exposes some old history through the scratches in the walls: the old signs that became their written language, passed off as mere doodles by their old slavers. Optronix tries translating them as he passes:

OPTRONIX

(Reciting quietly)

_"Sabotage shipment at Node Tarn... two cycles from message sent... Scan Template at docks... Two simultaneous explosions..."_

SEISMUS

(Continuing)

_"...five metrons apart. Low survivability. If able, fall to lower shelters..."_

OPTRONIX

(Reading from the opposite wall)

_"...and wait until retrieved by..." What signature's that?_

He stops, points to the unfamiliar Signature Lexical, a character unique to every place and person on Cybertron, taken from their slave IDs and reworked into names. Seismus gazes to him.

SEISMUS

_Mine._

Moment of silence. Now it's Roadrage's turn to ask something. From down the tunnels, two engines sound like dull drones of whole factories, bouncing and colliding and modulating like sirens from wall to wall.

ROADRAGE

_Did he ever make it?_

The Quantara looks away, keeps walking at a faster pace, clearly disturbed by the memory.

SEISMUS

(Slowly)

_No. He eas torn apart in the explosion, tried Transforming and gliding to the shelter with Shark-bites and shrapnel in his wings. Smashed against the Node's lower walls, we only ever found those wings._

(Beat.)

_The rest of him, some nomadic junkers were found wearing - like ceremonial dress. They were feral, Energon stains glowing on their faces and feeding tubes. I put them down. It was the logical thing to do._

That's the last they speak for a long while.

CUT TO:

**EXT. QUANTARA BRICK - OVERCYCLE - CLOUDY, SOME STARS**

The tunnel spits them out, wider than ever. Wing Saber and Sine come to their stop. Sine has somehow beat him there, stands and watches as the tired Seeker Autobot Transforms... and immediately collapses onto his back.

CLOSE UP: Wing Saber's face. We see him as he stares up aimlessly, and his optics drift. Drift enough to one side, and...

POP!

REVERSE - POV - WING SABER: He looks up. This thing is MONSTROUS! It's a big mech, bigger than any he's ever seen before, able to knock down a Node on its own! But it's - !

It's frozen. Perhaps a statue.

No. In Cybertronian slang, they call the paralyzed titans Bricks: even in their time, they were big, heavy, clunky; laughably simple Transformations, if any at all. Almost always designated as mobile stations, very little conscious sense of self. Curious, he forgets the exhaustion of the race and stands up to gawk.

He didn't know any were still in use. This one is mostly white, large purple antennae, blue and purple stripes across the chest and one arm. Its head hangs limply against one blocky shoulder, hundreds of metrons up. Its useless black-stained mouth dangles open. The whole thing is overtaken by multicolored rust and the stains of acidic rainfall. Parts have been chipped away by rough wind to nothing, exposed nubs further rotted by time.

Funnily enough, the sky is clear, and the weather here is fair. He should ask the Quantara about it. Plenty of time until the others arrive, whatever they were thinking by walking. Wait... he can't - won't - talk.

But the flyer asks anyway.

WING SABER

_Got a Brick here, huh? This your base, fortress, laboratory, whatever? And how did you stabilize the weather here?_

(moment to consider the questiom himself as Sine does nothing)

_I suppose your work involves treating the atmosphere here. Quite the asset if we can get your research into Autobot hands. Could change the surface of Cybertron for the better. I suppose that's why it's so important we forge an alliance, accommodate and welcome you._

Now the blue Quantara turns to face him, the visor somehow narrowing to him. He has no idea if that's a yes, no, or something else entirely.

He paces, waiting anxiously for his partner to arrive. He never liked this part. While he's separated, so much can happen, and has. Bots die in tunnels, it happens all the time. Cybertron always has and always be a lethal world.

He throws a long glance back to the tunnel. Nothing.

He keeps looking.

He doesn't know how long he holds the gaze.

Eventually, he hears echoing footsteps. Breathes a "sigh" of relief when he sees all three have arrived safely.

Scratxh that. That _he_ arrived safely. He throws up his arm, flashing the special Duon Gamma insignia, which his partner raises in reply.

ROADRAGE

_And yes, we're fine too, my thanks to you for asking!_

SEISMUS

_Indeed._

The purple Quantara has forgotten their Brick. Now he remembers.

SEISMUS

(Notably more jovial, a far cry from his war story)

_Ah, yes! The Brick, our base of operations. He's been out of commission since before the Revolution began, before we found him, probably before any of us were manufactured. Even by Titan standards, he's an antique. We call him Metrotitan. Original, I know! But on the inside, he is easily the greatest treasure trove of technology on the planet._

ROADRAGE

_What kind of technology?_

SEISMUS

_Everything. Space travel, atmospheric restoration, some research into the Size Barrier that keeps us from making big things like this Brick. Even Transformer anatomy and reproduction._

ROADRAGE

_On par with the Squids?_

SEISMUS

_Oh, easily. We could tap into all the inoperative stuff most Cybertronians were never allowed to learn about before. They ever come back, they'll be surprised what we can do._

ROADRAGE

_Let's just worry about keeping ourselves together._ (Gesturing)_ Lead the way inside._

Silently, Sine begins walking inside. The rest follow.

**INT. METROTITAN - WELL-LIT**

A maze of long corridors, all connected and all packed with Quantara and their experiments. All wear at least partially matching colors. Some wear visors, more still wear antennae - advanced comms, surely. The whole place is unnaturally clean, organized, well-kept. One Brick-sized laboratory.

Their representative brothers seem right at home, greeting and replying and gesturing - all silently. The Autobots, however, are deathly uncomfortable. How many of them were mute? How did it work? What did it mean?

Different factions live differently. None imposes any essential quality onto another, save maybe the Autobot presence. It's a presence, the Autobots all remark before realizing it, that would be much appreciated. Hopefully, with exchange of resources comes a parallel exchange of understanding.

WING SABER

_Do... any of them speak?_

SEISMUS

_Oh, a few. A lot never learned to speak, though. I suppose a lot of the Quantara have been isolated since before the Revolution._

ROADRAGE

_But not you?_

SEISMUS

_Or Sine. A few others I can't name now. We came later, much later, when there was nothing else. No Autobots, no welcoming Nodes, no treasonous Squid asylums. Absolutely nowhere else to go._

They pass a windowed testing room, with data on the experiment scrawled in holographic letters against the pane in plain, neat Cybertronic glyphs. Inside, a white-purple-green Quantara stands in the middle the featureless white box.

It reads: MULTI-CHANGING EXPERIMENT. SUBJECT: [Cybertronic signature]. ATTEMPT SEVENTEEN.

Seismus puts up a hand for them to stop, clearly curious himself.

SEISMUS

_Ooh! They've made progress. _(taps on glass) _Greatshot, what happened to the last one?_

GREATSHOT

(Shrugging, in a foreign accent)

_Stop by Medbay and tell me later. For now, I have work to do._

(Straightening up, mentally preparing)

_Alright, let's do this..._

_TRANSFOOORM!_

He leaps into a Transformation: a treaded tank.

Then he Transforms again: a six-wheeled car!

Again!: a hovering jet. An animal. Finally, something big, double-barreled, and unable to stand of its own. It falls over, and Greatshot returns to Robot Mode, laughing giddily in a ball on the floor.

The show of humanity (to us, simply familiarity to them) eases them a little bit. But there's something unnatural about that victorious bellow, something unsettled. Disturbed.

Seismus flashes an artificial grin to them.

SEISMUS

_We can make Scanning obsolete soon. But for a long time yet, it's going to be a piecemeal operation not without pain and constant surveillance. Come on, this way._

One exchanged look between the Duon tells them to raise their guard a little more. They're incompatible with this place.

Roadrage continues on, unsettled herself but not worried. It's her job to go to unfamiliar places populated by unfamiliar people with an unfamiliar culture. There's hope.

They continue on as a group.

Then come to a fork. Sine motions in some beyond-archaic sign language to his brother. He gets a reply... and doesn't seem to understand.

SEISMUS

_What? No one told me. Why?_

A signed reply.

SEISMUS

_"Not... let... escape... them." Sine, what is this?_

Now his mute brother pleads with him, every exaggerated articulation of his hands and arms showing a sort of begging: "Please go along."

But Seismus will not. He whispers a message to the Autobots:

"WE NEED TO LEAVE."

Then something else happens.

SINE

(Modulated, buzzy, musical, like a broken loudbox)

_They will not leave. Brother, Master will not allow it._

SEISMUS

_So you've hidden that from me, too? I can't believe this! Autobots, I'm sorry, but we'll be leaving._

Other Quantara through the corridor, in an instant, go from friendly but eccentric scientists to malevolent aggressors in an instant.

SINE

_No. You will not._

SEISMUS

_Why now? What's happened?_

SINE

_He has given us voices. And the words we speak in return..._

The Duon step closer, T-Cogs almost revving for Combination. But both, subconsciously, are listening first, hoping the Quantara's completed thought is not what they think it is. Roadrage draws her gun, reluctant. She might have to Transform, too, and the thought is not a savory one.

Seismus waves an Autobot hand-signal: Move. Now. Optronix and Wing Saber keep their receptors open as they find an opening and go for it.

Sine's optics flash green as he finishes the thought:

SINE

_...are **Truth!**_

SLAM TO:

BLACK.

S.O. (text, typing):

_Iqine..._


End file.
